


Through Shapeless Worlds and Airless Skies

by AndrastesKnickerweasle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anders delivers a baby cliché, Angst, BAMF!Anders, Dragon Age Lore, Fluff, Humor, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Smut of the lovemaking variaty, Stockholm syndromey in a charming fairy tale kind of way, loose retelling of Hades/Persephone, love at first sight to enemies to friends to love again, spent more time looking up the Elven pantheon than is probably healthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrastesKnickerweasle/pseuds/AndrastesKnickerweasle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today Da’len, I shall tell you the tale of why we have the changing seasons... It is a tale of prejudice and understanding, trust and acceptance, duty and sacrifice… a tale of the star crossed lover of the Dread Lord Falon’Din…</p><p>A Fenders retelling of the Greek Myth of Hades and Persephone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HollowedMelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowedMelody/gifts).



> Dedicated to the brilliant caughtinthepages (HollowedMelody), who declared they “would do unspeakable things for a Fenders fic based on Hades/Persephone”. I have always adored and been somewhat obsessed with Greek mythology, and Hades has always been my favorite, so I wholeheartedly agreed that this. Had. To. Happen!
> 
> This AU takes place in Dragon Age’s ancient history, not long after humans first appeared in Thedas. Before Circles, Templars, or even the worship of the Maker, before the Elven Gods were banished and still meddled in the affairs of mortals. No Trespasser spoilers that I can think of. As this is a loose retelling of Greek myth, I drew much more from the Dalish legends, rather than the “truth” of the Elven Gods. I tried to keep this as canon as possible while still remaining faithful to the basic story of Hades and Persephone, but I'm positive there are some details on both sides that I have flubbed or outright ignored to suit me. Just try to relax and have fun with it, I know I did! The title is from the "Song to Falon'Din" by the way ^_^
> 
> UPDATE! Emotionalmorphine was kind enough to make a beautiful mood board for this story! Thank you so much, and thank you everyone who suggested it on Tumblr for the Satinalia event Emotionalmorphine was doing <3
> 
> UPDATE V2! Chapter 16 has been added as a space for fanart! That's right, I've actually gotten fanart!!! *swoons* It's beautiful, so please go check it out <3
> 
> *Warning in this chapter for graphic depiction of difficult child birth.

_Today Da’len, I shall tell you the tale of why we have the changing seasons.  Perhaps you may think that we have Elgar’nan Eldest of the Sun to thank for the warmth we enjoy in summer, or Ghilan’nain Mother-Halla for the new life that blossoms beneath her hooves in spring, or Sylaise the Hearthkeeper for the bounteous harvest we receive in autumn to fill our home table… but this is not their tale.  It is a tale of prejudice and understanding, trust and acceptance, duty and sacrifice… a tale of the star crossed lover of the Dread Lord Falon’Din…_

 

 

 

He raced along the shifting paths, bare feet padding through the maze of shadows as quickly as a stone skipping over still water.  Whispers echoed through his mind, hastening his steps to match the swift beating of his heart.  _Guide me into death… please…_ “I am coming.”

* * *

 The healer’s hands shook, struggling to right the child’s position as it tried desperately to enter the world.  The poor babe was hopelessly stuck, one tiny leg that was rapidly turning an unhealthy shade of blue peeked out of the mother’s birth canal, leaving the other leg folded up unnaturally to further wedge the child each time the exhausted woman pushed.  If he did not act soon he would lose them both. 

“Ma- ma ghilana mir din'an-“  The elven woman’s whimpered plea was cut off by a tortured scream as another contraction tightened its grip.

Though he didn’t understand exactly what she’d said, the human healer had spent enough time among elves to catch a word he didn’t like in the least.  “Oh no you don’t, hold on for me.”  He said in as soothing a voice as he was able, certain she couldn’t understand his language any more than he could hers, but hoping his tone would calm her all the same.  “No one is going to die.  Not you and not your baby, not if I can help it.”

He closed his eyes and reached deep within him for that spark of warmth and light that he knew could save her, if only he could find it.

* * *

There was no rhyme or reason to the cloaked elf’s movements through the shimmering trails of light and shadow, the passageways he so often traveled as ever changing as the tides, and just as dangerous.  It was instinct that guided him, a feeling that seemed to tug him this way and that until he spilled out into the mortal world precisely when and where he was needed. 

And in the end, he was _always_ needed.

The tugging sensation suddenly drew taunt and seemed to pluck at his soul like a lute string, the notes ringing out ‘ _here’_ ‘ _now’_.  The markings that marred his entire body and allowed him entry to this corridor between worlds flared bright as the Veil parted around him.  The rare caress of sun warmed grass beneath his feet was like a soothing balm, lessening the sharp pain the markings always caused, if only a little.  He bowed his head, the hood of his dark cloak shielding his eyes from the blinding light of day.

The air around him stirred as a second hooded figure appeared in a flurry of raven’s feathers to kneel beside him.  The standing figure’s lips twitched into a faint smile.  “You are late Leto, I feared you had lost your way again.”  The elf teased, his voice roughened either by design or disuse, but betraying a rich cultured baritone hidden beneath its sharp edges.

Leto looked up to meet his brother’s emerald eyes, identical to his own in both tint and the familiar fondness he saw reflected back in his gaze.  “You should be so lucky brother.”  Leto smirked at his twin’s soft indignant snort.  His expression sobered as he scanned the small village below.  “Which way?”

Emerald eyes narrowed as the first elf surveyed the landscape, his gaze finally landing on a small hut on the outskirts of a modest settlement bordering the forest in which they now stood.  He raised his arm to point with grim finality.  “There.  It will not be long now.”

“Just one this time?”

He close his eyes and listened to the plaintive calls for guidance as they steadily grew stronger.  The stern line of his lips turn downward slightly.  “Two.”

Leto nodded somberly and gave a single sharp whistle, sending one of the two ravens seated on his shoulder scrambling from its perch toward the tiny hovel.

An unnatural hush seemed to fall over the forest as its inhabitants fled; for even the wild birds and beasts knew to make themselves scarce when Dirthamen and Falon’Din darkened their doorstep.

* * *

He barely had a moment to spare a glance at the raven that made a rather noisy appearance on his window sill.  The healer needed every ounce of his concentration if this were going to work.  “Please, _please_ , Spirits, help me, guide my hands…” he muttered to himself, unsure exactly what had summoned the power he had used only once before when a man in the village had been gored by an ox.  It had all gone by so quickly, blood pouring from the wound as his patient’s life began to flicker out like a guttering flame.  All he could remember was praying, _pleading_ with the Spirits to help him save the poor soul.  For whatever reason, the Spirits had answered, filling him with a warm surge of power that flowed from his hands in a blaze of bright green that could sooth away pain and heal wounds.  He wasn’t certain the spirits would answer his call a second time, but he had to try.   

His continued whispered prayers mingled with the elven woman’s increasingly weak whimpers.  At the raven’s appearance her demeanor suddenly changed, her eyes widening as she reached feebly toward the intruder.  “Enasal.  Dirthamen- Falon’Din!  Ma ghilana mir din'an.  Falon’Din… Falon’-“

The healer cursed softly as he heard a name he recognized from Velanna’s stories.  He regarded the raven with his full attention and found the bird staring back with an unnerving intelligence shining in its dark gaze.  “Falon’Din, the elven God of Death… and wasn’t there something about ravens?  Or was that his father- no brother!  Bollocks!  Surely that’s just a story!”  He muttered to himself before turning his attention back to the struggling mother.  “Listen to me!  Listen!  You’ve got to breathe, calm down, breathe.”  He took deep even breaths in the hopes she would understand, but she was fading, her gaze fixed squarely upon the raven with something akin to longing flickering in her rapidly dulling eyes.

“Falon’Din… Ma ghilana mir din'anshiral…”

“Shit!”  The healer swore, his eyes glistening with tears of frustration and growing despair.  He bit his lip and slid his hand up beside the baby one last time, blood dripping down his forearms and trickling off his elbows to pool on the dirt floor.  This last attempt may kill her, but it seemed she was not long for this world either way.  “Leave her be Falon’Din!  Just give me a bloody moment!”  He shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.  The healer’s eyes screwed shut as he prayed with all his heart and soul.

* * *

“It is a Shemlen village.”  Leto whispered with faint surprise as he laid his hand atop the second raven’s head.  He waved his free hand before them to summon a cloudy vision of the first raven’s view inside the distant hut. 

Falon’Din’s dark eyebrows furrowed behind a curtain of stark white hair.  “Why is a Shemlen tending to one of our people?”  He wondered aloud as he studied the man and noted his seemingly genuine anguish at the female elf’s imminent passing.  The man began to speak in the language of the Shemlen of the south.  “What is he saying?”  Falon’Din asked, having long since given up on wondering exactly how his brother seemed to know everything there was to know, even if he seldom saw fit to share it.

“He is attempting to comfort her.  He thinks she will not die.”  Leto answered, just as baffled as his brother at the Shemlen’s strange behavior.

“He is wrong.  Her calls grow clearer by the second.  She has only moments left.  The child, even less.”  He pronounced coldly.  The others in Arlathan thought him harsh and unfeeling for speaking the truth so bluntly, but he had always seen little use in wasting words.  Falon’Din knew better than most how very little time there was to waste in moments such as these.

Leto frowned.  “Such a shame for one so young to pass into the Beyond.”

Falon’Din nodded in silent agreement, but allowed himself to dwell on it no further.  “It is the way of thing-“ he stopped with a gasp as he heard the Shemlen shout his name amidst a string of unfamiliar words, “Did the Shemlen just… invoke me?”

“Not exactly.”  Leto smirked.  “He asked you, no, more like _demanded_ that you leave her be and give him a moment.”

His eyebrow quirked in interest despite himself.  It certainly wasn’t every day a Shemlen challenged Falon’Din himself.  “And what exactly does he intend to do with this moment?”

“I am not sure- brother look!”

Twin pairs of emerald eyes widened at the vision before them.

* * *

 _Please, Spirits hear my prayer, please help me save this woman and her child, please help me Spirits!_   His heart was pounding and his head throbbing, but he kept on praying, grasping for the power he _knew_ was there swirling enticingly just beyond his reach.  The throbbing of the rich warm lifeblood flowing through his veins whispered answers to questions he had not yet asked, his ears ringing with powerful and terrible promises.  The healer sharpened his focus and blocked out the tempting offers.  The answers his blood offered felt sharp and oily and _wrong_ as they rubbed insistently against his soul.  It was not the power he sought, it was not a power that could heal pain, only cause it. 

As he firmly came to that conclusion in his mind, it was as though a dam cracked and broke inside of him, starting with a trickle of soothing warmth and quickly becoming a flood of power.  The healer opened his eyes as his hands flared green with ethereal light.  The Spirits had answered his prayers at last.

Now that he had the means to act he knew exactly what to do, his motions smooth and sure as he pushed the baby back just enough to free it’s trapped leg and deliver it’s bottom half.  He cradled the child’s arms close to it’s tiny chest and eased the baby’s torso through the birth canal.  “One more push for the head!  Come on, push for me!  Push!” 

Even if she didn’t understand the words, she seemed to grasp the healer’s sentiment as she finally tore her eyes away from the raven darkening the windowsill and focused on her and her child’s last golden chance at life.  She met his determined amber gaze with a firm nod and gave one final agonizing push.

The healer caught the baby, a little girl, and his eyebrows furrowed at the unhealthy pallor of her skin.  He concentrated as he poured healing energy into the child’s tiny body, finding fluid in her lungs and drawing it out to make room for fresh air.  He rubbed the baby’s chilled limbs and compressed her chest rhythmically, encouraging her to draw her first shallow breath.  That first timid attempt at life was followed by a small gurgling whimper, and slowly grew into a squalling wail. 

He had little time to celebrate however, as the mother’s breathing grew steadily fainter as her daughter’s gained strength.  The healer gently laid the babe on her mother’s chest as he turned his attention back to the elf’s torn opening.  Her afterbirth was not passing, causing her to continue bleeding heavily.  He manually detached the placenta as gently as he could, flooding her womb with healing light and sealing off the bleeding as he went.  He poured all his energy, his _magic_ as Karl had called it, into her exhausted body until his vision darkened around the edges and he felt faint.  The healer pulled back his power and breathed a heavy sigh.  He had done all he could, with the aid of the Spirits of course, but now the rest depended on her will to survive.  As he glimpsed the look of absolute adoration she gave her tiny daughter as she began to suckle, he had a feeling she would find the strength to pull through. 

His back cracked as he stood from his stool at the end of the bed and stretched his bloodied arms high above his head.  The human quietly made his way around the small hut, cleaning up the blood from his person and the surrounding area and gently covering the new mother with a blanket, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible.  Just as he made to turn away and give the fledgling family a moment of privacy, the elf caught his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip for someone that looked so frail.

“Lanaya.”  She let go of his wrist, her other hand still wrapped protectively around her precious bundle, and pointed at herself meaningfully, “ _Lanaya_.  Na?”  She pointed at him with a questioning gaze.

“Lanaya…” her eyes lit up as she nodded and pointed to herself again, “Lanaya is your name?  And you… want to know my name?”  He asked, pointing to himself.  She smiled and nodded.  He smiled back as he remembered the shaking woman wandering from the forest with blood running down her legs, speaking quickly in the language of the elves, the fear and pain in her eyes universal.  At the time her name had been the last thing on his mind, but now that the worst of the danger had passed and he had a spare moment to breathe again, he was gladdened to learn it.  “Anders.  My name is Anders.”  He said slowly with careful articulation, still pointing at his chest.

Lanaya smiled brightly.  “Anders… ma melava halani.  Da'len melava halani.  Ma serannas.”

Even if he could not understand the words, the meaning in her tone was plain enough.  Anders smiled warmly and replied.  “You are welcome Lanaya.”

* * *

The vision evaporated into mist as Dirthamen’s servant returned to his side with a ruffling of its feathers that seemed to be the avian equivalent of a shrug.  The twin brothers blinked at one another as the call that had been so clear only moments ago faded into nothing in Falon’Din’s ears.  “The Shemlen… he… remarkable...”  Falon’Din whispered in awe, still reeling from the display he had just witnessed.  The fact that a Shemlen had used healing magic successfully on a patient so far gone was reason enough for the elf’s interest to be peaked.  But when he had _smiled_ , the sunlight streaming in the window to become one with his golden hair and light up his stunning amber eyes, Falon’Din had been unable to tear his gaze away even if he had wanted to.  In one short moment the man had proven himself to be kind, compassionate, capable, powerful… _beautiful_.  To say that Falon’Din was captivated with the mysterious Shemlen who had dared to challenge his domain, and _won_ , would have been a vast understatement.   

Questions raced through his head quicker than he could consider answers.  Why had the Shemlen cared so much for an elf as to cry and pray for her life?  How was he able to perform Spirit healing, rudimentary though it may have been, when it was a rare gift even among the Evanuris?  How was he, a mere Shemlen, able to shine as warm and golden as the sun when he smiled?

Falon’Din’s musings were interrupted by his brother’s hand waving in front of his face.  “Brother?  I must say I do believe you are smitten.”  Leto proclaimed with a playful smirk.

“Wha-“ he blinked and focused on his dark haired sibling with a faint shake of his head, “Smitten?  Do not be absurd.  He is only a Shemlen.”  Falon’Din answered with a frown, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the way his ears began to burn at his brother’s entirely too knowing grin.

“A _lovely_ Shemlen, with flaxen hair, amber eyes, kindness enough to want to pluck an elf from the grasp of Falon’Din himself, and power enough to _do_ it.  Impressive, you must admit, and the fact that he is a Shemlen makes it even more so.”

Falon’Din gave him a thoughtful frown.  “I cannot deny that.”

“Then it is decided!  I shall fetch him for you!”  Leto declared with a clap of his hands.

“You most certainly will not!”

“Come now brother!”  He grasped his white haired twin’s shoulder, “You cannot tell me you are not lonely, nor can you tell me you are not intrigued by him.  You can keep no secrets from me, so it is pointless to try.”

“Shemlen are not pets Leto!”  Falon’Din growled and shooed his brother’s hand away.  “And who says I am lonely?  I have you… whether I want you around or not.”  He grumbled under his breath, not truly meaning it, and more than certain Leto knew it as well.

“Not as a pet, a companion!  You shall always have me, whether you like it or not.”  He said in a gruff imitation of his brother, his tone taking on a rougher quality despite their voices being nearly identical.  “But there are some things that I cannot provide for you.  The Shemlen has clearly caught your interest, why not explore your curiosity?!”

Falon’Din rolled his eyes.  “That is your department.  I do not have the time or desire to care for a Shemlen, as a pet or otherwise.”

“But the moons are nearly full and-“

“Drop it Leto!”

“But Fen-“

“Drop it!”  He swept a hand in front of him, symbolically cutting off his brother’s prattling attempts to sway him.  “I am no longer called here so there is no reason to linger.  You may do as you like, but I am leaving!”

Without further preamble his markings burned bright and he slipped past the Veil and into the shifting paths beyond.  “Fenris!  Creators you are stubborn!”  Leto groaned uselessly to the empty spot of woodland his brother had previously occupied.  “But…” he murmured as he held his arm aloft and beckoned his corvid familiars to perch upon it, “He _did_ say I could do as I liked.  What do you think, shall we fetch a companion for my dear brother?  I am loathe to let his loneliness continue when the source of easing it stands right before me.”

“I don’t think that was his meaning.  Lord Falon’Din will be cross with us, the Shemlen will resist, the Shemlen will _die_ when he crosses the Veil!”  The raven that had been their eyes in the healer’s window lamented, her voice shaking as she worried at her feathers with her beak.

Her companion pecked at her to cease her fussing.  “Lord Falon’Din does not want the Shemlen.  There is nothing remarkable about him, nothing special at all!”  He cawed harshly.

Leto contemplated their advice as the ravens’ caws degenerated into pecking and name calling.  The birds’ responses may have deterred the common elf, but if Leto’s countless years of conversations with the ravens had taught him anything, it was that one had to read between the lines to interpret the mutterings of Fear and Deceit.  To the trained ear, his servants had clearly given the idea their ringing endorsements.  “I agree.  We will meet here at dusk three days hence, when the moons are full and the Veil is at its thinnest.”  He commanded, his voice vibrating with a hidden power that was not to be trifled with. 

The ravens ceased their mutual squabbling and met their Master’s eyes as though in a trance.  “Yes Master Dirthamen.”  The birds intoned together.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Leto and his familiars vanished in a whirl of shadow and ravens’ feathers.


	2. Chapter Two

Anders smiled with a tired but satisfied sigh as he placed the last thick bundle of elfroot atop the pile of embrium and spindleweed that he had already collected.  It had been a long day of traipsing through the forest, but a productive one, his basket full to the brim with healing herbs and potion ingredients.  He raised his forearm to wipe his brow and stood to head back toward the village, but before he was able to take more than a few steps, he heard a twig snap, followed by a faint whimper in the distance. 

The human whirled around, his senses on high alert as sparks of fire danced to life in the palm of his hand.  “Who’s there?”  He shouted into the gathering darkness.  Anders cursed his carelessness as he noticed the sun slowly blinking out over the horizon.  Everyone knew not to stay in the forest past dusk, if you were foolish enough to enter it in the first place that is.  The feeling of security his burgeoning magic gave him had clearly made him complacent. 

“Serah?”  A small voice called out.  “Serah, we need help!”

Anders snuffed the fire flickering in his hand with a relieved sigh.  It was only a child.  A child that needed _help_.  His relief was replaced with concern as he hurried toward the tiny voice in the darkness.  “I’m coming to you!  Keep talking!”

“Please hurry Serah!  She’s hurt bad!”

The healer saw a glimpse of a raven haired little boy in the distance beckoning him deeper into the forest before slipping into the shadows.  Anders sped to follow without hesitation.  He lost track of how far the boy was leading him, and how dark the forest was becoming, focused as he was on the whimpering he heard as he steadily grew closer.

At last he reached a clearing, a unnaturally perfect circle lined with tall pines that seemed to swallow up the light of the twin full moons.  In the center of the darkened clearing lay a little girl cradling her left arm, her midnight hair a tangled curtain in front of her dark fearful eyes.  “I think it’s broken, I think I’m going to die!  I’m _dying_!”

The boy shifted around them from foot to foot, his head bobbing once or twice in an unusual fashion that Anders wrote off as a sign of stress at his sister’s plight.  “A wild animal attacked her!  It tore her up bad!  Bad!”

Anders furrowed his eyebrows and regarded the boy with growing anxiety as he nearly cawed the last word.  “What were you two doing out here so late?  And what sort of animal?  Where is it now?”

“We were playing Serah!”  The boy squawked.

The little girl worried at her bottom lip.  “Mother will be cross…”

“It was a bear!  A bear!”

“They are Master’s favorite…”

Anders swallowed thickly as a feeling of vertigo overtook him.  “Master?”

The girl’s eyes met his, pitch black and fathomless as the endless night that closed in around him.  “Do not tell him we said so!  Master will be cross!  It was meant to be… a _secret_.”

His heart froze with cold dread as the children began to shift and morph before his eyes, their hair turning to sleek glossy black feathers as their noses sharpened into wicked beaks spewing harsh laughter mingled with bone chilling caws.  The trees spun around him before being blotted out in a swirl of shadows and raven feathers.  Anders raised a shaking hand and summoned a burst of fire with a desperate shout. 

A mournful raven’s cry was the last thing Anders heard before darkness overtook him.

 

* * *

 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

Anders groaned softly, the incessant pounding in his head intensifying at the incredulous shout that seemed to echo all around him.

“You said I could do as I liked-“

“Don’t you dare pull that with me Leto!  You know very well that was not what I meant!”

The human’s eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to reconcile what sounded like someone having an argument with themselves.  Though one was raised in fury and one calm and placating, both voices rumbled in a rich gravelly baritone, the sound flowing over him smooth and abrasive all at once.  Anders reckoned he would have found it an enjoyable combination if his head weren’t so busy trying to split itself open.

“I told you Master!  Lord Falon’Din is cross with us, he doesn't want the Shemlen pet!  He will banish us forever!  I will not be able to fly away with you because the Shemlen _did_ resist and now my feathers are ruined!  Burnt away and gone forever!  Gone!”  A shrill female voice lamented hysterically.

“You are so ugly and scarred now that the Master and I don’t want you around anyway!”  A new male voice croaked.

“You see Fear?  Deceit thinks you are lovely as ever.  Your tail feathers will grow back in no time, you will see.”  The calmer of the two identical voices cooed gently.

“Leto!”  The angry version of the sensuous voice rang out, “Now is not the time to coddle your pets!  What do you intend for me to do with your generous _gift_?!” 

Anders’ heart hammered in his chest as he got the distinct feeling he was being stared at.  So he was to be a gift was he?  A pet to the Dread Lord Falon’Din if he heard the raven right.  Or perhaps this was his punishment for challenging Death himself by saving that elf and her child not but a few days ago?   _Bloody brilliant_.  The healer thought bitterly, even as he admitted to himself that he would do it over again in a heartbeat.  He resolutely kept his eyes closed in feigned sleep and surveyed his situation as much as he was able.  He was lying on a smooth stone surface of some sort, likely the floor of where ever it was he had been taken.  For he had undoubtedly been taken _somewhere_ , tricked by the raven servants of an elven God and spirited away to his kingdom beyond the Veil. 

 _Just how is it you get yourself into these situations Anders?_   He thought wryly as he took inventory of his physical state.  He didn’t seem to be injured, other than his aching head, and they hadn’t even bothered to bind his hands or feet.  Awfully cocky of them to underestimate him so severely, a mistake on their part that Anders planned to use to his full advantage if the chance presented itself.

“I am certain you will think of _something_ to do with him brother.”  The one called Leto replied, his mischievous smirk audible.

A low growl rumbled through the cavernous room and sent shivers down Anders’ spine.  “How dare you suggest- get out!  Take your retched birds and get out of my sight!  I will… deal with the Shemlen, and we will have words later!”

Anders listened as padding footsteps and flapping wings approached and passed him, followed by the thunderous sound of a massive door closing and latching shut.  He committed the number of paces it took him to reach the exit to memory... it was a higher number than Anders would have liked.   _Now it’s just the other elf, no problem, only one elf… who only happens to be Death personified_ -

“You may cease your poorly concealed ruse of sleep Shemlen, you are fooling no one.”

“I just didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, it’s considered rather rude where I come from.”  Anders replied with a brittle smirk, forcing down his instinct to wince against the light as he blinked his eyes open.  “Rather like _kidnapping_ , come to think.”

“Have a care where you level your accusations.  Do you know to whom you speak?” 

Anders had a very good idea to whom he spoke, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get a look at his captor and size up his chances of survival should he attempt fight rather than flight.  He swept his amber gaze along the long narrow room he found himself in, taking in the dark slate walls adorned with foreboding sconces embellished with figures of owls swooping in for the kill, the torches they held burning with a strange green fire.  His eyes followed the smooth bricks of ancient stone toward the throne that served as the room’s focal point, and the pair of bare feet that currently stood before it.  Anders' gaze slowly traveled up the elf’s frame, trying to betray no emotion as he got his first look at the Dread Lord Falon’Din.

Anders’ adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed thickly.  _Spirits it ought to be outlawed for a kidnapper to be so handsome._

As a general rule, elves tended to be an attractive people, but this man, this _vision_ that stood before him was in a league all his own.  The elf’s smooth olive skin bore beautiful white swirling marks the likes of which Anders had never seen.  They seemed to travel up his legs, hidden underneath tight black leggings.  A well-tailored black tunic delicately embroidered with fine silver thread in a simple pattern meant to compliment his markings covered his taunt flat stomach and rested against his chest beneath a gleaming silver chest plate, while matching silver gauntlets adorned his hands and forearms.  His lean but well defined biceps showed a glimpse of those enticing white lines flowing down his arms and up his shoulders to disappear beneath pauldrons decorated with raven feathers.  The graceful marks curved up his throat and over his chin to tease at full lips currently turned down in a stern frown.

Anders’ breath caught in his throat as their eyes met through the fall of white hair atop the elven God’s head, the fathomless emerald orbs piercing him and seeming to see straight through him.  The elf raised a strong dark brow expectantly.  The human cleared his throat and made a dramatic flourishing bow, “The Dread Lord Falon’Din I presume?  I suppose you expect me to be honored to be captured by someone so high and mighty…” Anders stood up straight and leveled a challenging gaze into the bottomless emerald pools, “But sadly you'd be mistaken.”

Falon’Din’s eyes narrowed, his gauntlets creaking slightly as he clenched his fists.  “I expect nothing from you Shemlen.  You do not belong here.”

“I’m inclined to agree.  So if you’d kindly show me the door I’d be glad to leave.”

Something like annoyance flickered across the elf’s features before he scoffed and looked to the ground.  “I would… were it possible.”

“Were it possible...” Anders gulped as a new and frightening thought occurred to him, “Am I- am I dead?”

“Certainly not.  You owe your presence here to nothing more sinister than my brother’s infernal meddling.”

“Alright, so why doesn’t he kindly _un-meddle_ and bring me back?”  Anders replied incredulously.    

Falon’Din scoffed.  “The Veil is only thin enough to allow your safe passage once every moon cycle.  In two fortnights the moons will be full once more and you may go back to your own kind.  I-“ his jaw tightened as he shuffled his feet slightly, “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Anders quirked an eyebrow.  Did the fabled elven Lord of the Dead just shuffle his bloody feet and say he was sorry?  He had to admit he found the shy gesture from the fearsome figure far more endearing than he had any right to, given the situation, but it wasn’t quite good enough.  “Inconvenience?!  First I’m abducted from my village because your brother seemingly had nothing better to do!  Then I’m brought beyond the Veil for a bloody playdate with Falon’Din himself, and now I can’t leave for a month?!  No I can’t imagine how that could _possibly_ be inconvenient!”

“Your smart mouth will change nothing Shemlen.”  The elven Deity scowled, “You must remain here for a month, as much as it will no doubt pain us both.”

“What pain is it to you _My Lord_?  Too much trouble having a _Shemlen_ running around underfoot?  Don’t worry, I promise not to piss on the rug or scratch up the furniture.”  The human replied with a grim smirk, having not forgotten the brothers referring to him as Falon’Din’s new pet.

Falon’Din growled and stalked toward him with quick long strides.  Anders congratulated himself on not flinching as the elf crowded into his space to stand toe to toe with him and glare.  For a man of such a slight and leanly muscled frame, there was a quiet sense of confidence, of _power_ , in the way he carried himself that had Anders’ heart racing in rising panic even as his cock twitched faintly with confused interest. 

“You,” Falon’Din began, his sinful voice dipping into a lower register with a faint snarl, “Were far more charming from a distance.”

“And _you_ are quite a bit shorter than I would have imagined the personification of Death incarnate.”  Anders whispered smugly with a feral smirk that showed a flash of teeth.

The elf growled and flexed his hands in their sharp gauntlets, looking as though he dearly wanted to throttle the taller man.  He suddenly stepped back with a scoff and turned to point at the door his brother had used to make his exit.  “Through that door you will find one of my acolytes.  They will assist you in finding your quarters.  Stay out of my affairs, do not stray from the grounds of my estate if you do not wish to be lost forever on the shifting paths, do not touch anything nor eat anything you are not expressly given permission to touch or consume.  Should you need something, any of my acolytes can assist you.”  He pivoted sharply on his heal and stalked toward the dark throne at the end of the hall.  “Now be gone!”

 

* * *

 

Fenris sighed heavily as the door slammed shut behind the furiously retreating Shemlen, leaving him alone to brood upon the mess his brother had gotten him into this time.  He loved Leto dearly, trusted him with his secrets and treasured every moment they were together… but Creators the man could be an idiot!  How could he have honestly thought this was a good idea?!  Even _if_ Fenris had found the Shemlen intriguing, that did not mean he wanted his company or presence!  When he had seen him, and if he were honest with himself, _admired_ him from a far, his affection for the unique Shemlen was something he would never dream of acting on.  A Shemlen’s lifespan was but a fraction of a second when compared to his ageless existence, and Fenris had regarded him with the appreciation one has for a fleeting and fragile thing of beauty, such as a flower in bloom or a falling star.  Fenris had been content to tuck away the precious memory of the kindhearted Shemlen who shown bright and golden as the sun, keeping it locked up safe within his heart for all time.

Now the memory of his warm smile had been stolen from him, usurped by the ugly scowl the man wore when he looked upon him. 

Fenris' illusions had been thoroughly shattered, the Shemlen having proven himself to be just like the rest of them.  Quick to judgement and anger, brash, rude and insolent.  Little more than a petulant child, gifted with the sharpened sword of magic to clumsily wield to the ruin of all.  Though Leto’s blasted raven Fear was a nuisance at the best of times, the angry red burn she now sported proved that the seemingly skilled and benevolent healer had the potential to cause great harm.  If the Shemlen of the north had taught the elven people anything in exchange for the vast amounts of knowledge they had foolishly bestowed upon them, it was that sooner or later, Shemlen always harmed those around them.  Whether it be by the diseases they spread, the swords they forged, their fumbling attempts at magic, or their mere presence quickening the lives of elves that tarried near them too long, Falon’Din had guided a great many more of his people into the Beyond since the Shemlen had arrived. 

Fenris ran a hand through his hair as he slumped upon his throne, the seat as cold and foreboding as himself, and just as uncomfortable.  What was he to do now, with a disgruntled Shemlen mage running about Setheneran?  He didn't seem to appreciate the pet analogy, but it remained to be seen how the man would react to being caged.  Experience had taught the elves that Shemlen could easily turn and bite the hands that fed them.  _Bite the hand- Creators, the acolytes!_ Fenris jumped to his feet and cursed himself for being so careless with his charges.  So strong had been his desire for the Shemlen to leave his presence that Falon’Din had thoughtlessly unleashed a snarling and cornered wolf amongst his flock.  His markings flared as he stormed down the long hall, his gauntlets creaking in tightly clenched fists as he followed the Shemlen’s path.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and Kudos! AU's tend to be out of my comfort zone, so your kind words mean a lot to me!
> 
> Now for a bit of exposition, and what was that about how the course of true love tends to run? Oh. Right.

“Now be gone!”

“ _Gladly_.”  Anders muttered with a scowl as he turned on his heel to storm out of the hall.  “Bloody bastard, thinks he’s soooo important.  Thinks I’ll be his pet does he?!  Bloody sodding arse-“  The healer’s murmured ranting was cut short by a surprised squeak as he threw open the door and nearly collided with a small blonde elven woman.  Wide green eyes blinked up at him framed by elaborate facial tattoos that resembled thorny vines.  His scowl was immediately replaced with a look of concern as he reached to steady the poor girl he had nearly bowled over.  “Spirits!  I didn’t see you there!  Are you alright?”

The elf stood frozen for a moment, her big eyes swimming with curiosity as she got her first look at the strange creature she had been tasked with serving.  The Shemlen’s question finally seemed to snap her out of her daze.  “Oh my!  I am sorry Master.  The fault was mine.  Master Dirthamen says that I am to show you to your quarters!”  She chirped as she bowed nervously and pointed to a door to the right.  “It is this way Master, if you will kindly follow me.”

“Anders!”  The human blurted out hastily as the elf threatened to flit away like a frightened bird. 

“Beg your pardon Master?”

“My name, it’s Anders.  I’m not anyone’s Master, nor should anyone be yours.”  He said with a faint frown of disapproval.  Why was this poor slip of a girl so frightened, as if she thought he would strike her at any moment?  Anders could imagine a possible explanation when thinking back on Falon’Din’s heavy metal gauntlets and the hands within them that seemed to twitch with the desire to strike him.  Perhaps he showed no such restraint with his slaves.  Anders knew that the elven Gods kept slaves to do their bidding, ruling through fear and intimidation and abusing those that sought to praise them, but it was quite another thing to see its effects firsthand.  The healer frowned deeply and clenched his fists as fire threatened to erupt from his shaking palms.  _God or no, I’ve got a few choice words for Falon’Din!_   Anders took a calming breath and schooled his features back into an unthreatening smile when he noticed a worried crinkle forming on the sweet elven girl’s brow.  “So, what’s your name?”

 _No one should be my Master?  And be without a patron God?  Shemlen are indeed odd_.  The girl thought as she tilted her head slightly, as though viewing the strange man with his rounded ears and short whiskers on his face would suddenly make more sense if viewed from a different angle.  It only served to make him look strange and sideways.  “My name is Orana.”  She answered in a small voice, feeling an ingrained sense of unease at being so familiar with her better, but he _had_ asked.

“Pleased to meet you Orana.”  Anders beamed and held out his hand.

Orana looked at his hand, utterly bewildered.  Did he want something?  She had nothing of value to offer, but he seemed to be waiting for something… oh!  Orana hurriedly unclasped a chain from around her neck and slipped it over the man’s outstretched hand, the silver owl pendant swaying gently between them.  He was a favored guest in Lord Falon’Din’s house, of course he would want his talisman, and her kind patron would surely give her another if she asked.  She gave Anders a wide smile, proud of herself for so aptly interpreting the Shemlen custom.  “Likewise!  Now please follow me Master Anders.”

Anders blinked in stunned silence at the slave’s odd behavior.  He thought to stop the poor girl and give the neckless back, but she had seemed so happy to give it to him.  Perhaps it was an elven custom?  He felt rather bad for not returning the gesture, and sincerely hoped the trinket had not been important to her.  The human silently vowed to ask her about it after he was settled in.  Anders realized he was quickly being left in the dust and hurried after her.

Given the aesthetic tastes in Falon’Din’s throne room and the crypt like foyer they had just come from, Anders had expected to find more cold dark stone illuminated by eerie green flames behind this door as well.  He was pleasantly surprised to find out he was wrong.  The hallway they entered was still nearly as dark as the previous area, but instead of the unsettling green fires burning in the sconces and candles, the warm golden glow of natural fire flickered against dark wood paneled walls adorned with a painting here and there, their steps muffled by a gold patterned burgundy runner.  Though the ceiling was quite a bit lower in this hallway than the vaulted ceilings in the foyer and cavernous throne room, the stark cold walls of slate and onyx gave off the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a dungeon, whereas the deep rich colors and soft carpet of this less public part of the manor gave it a warm intimate feel.  Anders had to admit he would have never expected a God of Death to reside in a place that felt so comfortable and homey. 

“These are your quarters Master Anders.”

Anders pulled his gaze from examining his surroundings and furrowed his eyebrows as Orana bowed again and gestured to the open door.  If everyone was going to be bowing and scraping around him the whole time he was here, this was going to be a very long month.  “You don’t need to bow Orana, I’m no better than you are.  You shouldn't have to bow to anyone.”  Anders caught himself frowning once again and quickly favored her with a warm smile.  “Anyhow, thank you for showing me to my room, but I can take it from here, you don’t need to trouble yourself.”

Orana bit her lip.  Master Anders had clearly just dismissed her, but it was her duty to make sure he was comfortable in his new surroundings.  Master Dirthamen had given her a very important task and she intended to see it through!  Her mind made up, she smiled and followed him inside his suite.  “It is no trouble at all Master Anders, let me show you around.”

 _We’re really going to have to do something about this Master business._   Anders thought fleetingly before focusing his attention on Orana’s tour of his room, or rather, rooms.  The human had heard tales from his friend and former traveling companion Velanna of the luxury the elven God’s enjoyed, but even with her descriptions of her former Master’s house, Anders found himself unprepared for the extravagance in which he now found himself.  The modest hut they had plucked him from had been the finest home he had lived in yet, and it had had a dirt floor! 

These floors where made of rich dark mahogany, occasionally broken up by soft warm rugs of blue and gold.  The three interior walls where the same deep stained wood as the hallway, but the exterior wall was the same gray slate as the throne room and held a large fireplace, which Orana surprised him by lighting with a casual wave of her hand.  The hearth was surrounded on either side by two large windows looking out onto a dark and rather dreary looking garden.  _Are those **black** roses?!  Spirits why am I not surprised?_   Anders through bitterly, turning away from the depressing view.

The bedroom was stately without being over furnished, having only a wardrobe against the wall that held all manner of finery that Anders could never see himself wearing, a simple vanity on the opposite wall, and a large bed in-between.  Just a fleeting touch as he passed told Anders the bed was no doubt the most comfortable he was ever likely to sleep on, the deep blue velvet comforter embroidered with silver stars to mirror the night sky and crisp white linens beckoning him and reminding him how truly exhausted he was.  Being kidnapped by Deities apparently really took it out of you.  Before he could collapse on the bed however, Anders felt it only polite to listen to the rest of Orana’s tour. 

The privy was unlike anything he ever could have imagined.  Why anyone would need such a large opulent room for bathing and relieving one’s self he wasn’t certain, but as his eyes widened in childlike wonder when Orana showed him how to operate the golden set of taps inlayed with glowing runes to make piping hot water spill into the large claw foot tub as if by magic, Anders was determined to use this room to its full potential in order to find out. 

The final room on the opposite end of the bedroom was a cozy sitting room with a handsome writing desk, a small sofa upholstered with the softest leather Anders had ever felt, and best of all, its walls were lined entirely with bookshelves.  Books were a rarity in the small villages he had passed through, most people too concerned with simply surviving the elements and keeping their bellies full to worry about such flights of fancy.  Anders excitedly scanned the shelfs, only to frown in disappointment when he was met with the strange scrawl of elven writing.  _Looks like I won’t be passing the time reading then._   Anders thought with a disappointed sigh, though he supposed he shouldn’t have expected an elven God to collect human literature.  However, that did raise another question…

“Orana, I can’t believe I haven’t thought about it until now, but how is everyone here able to speak my language?  I’ve met quite a few elves and I have never been able to speak to them as easily as I have here.”

Orana furrowed her delicate brows and cocked her head.  “Whatever do you mean Master Anders?  You are speaking elvish.”

The human quirked an eyebrow.  “I think I would remember learning elvish…”

“This place does not reside on the mortal plain.”  Anders cursed himself for jumping as his host’s gravelly voice washed over him from somewhere over his shoulder where he had seemingly materialized out of thin air, so silent was his approach.  “Death is the great equalizer for all living things, barriers of culture and language have little meaning here at the final signpost before stepping into the Beyond.  While you are in my realm you will hear everyone’s words in your native tongue, and we will hear you in ours.” 

“Spirits we ought to put a bloody bell on you!”  Anders bristled, glaring at the elf’s unexpected interruption, even as he filed away the admittedly helpful information.

“My Lord Falon’Din, we did not hear your approach!”  She bowed so low she nearly touched the ground. 

Anders grit his teeth at the subservient display.  Apparently all he had been told by the many runaway slaves he had met on his travels about the arrogance and pride of the elven Gods was true.  To think that they felt entitled to claim ownership of another person!  So _help_ him if the Dread Lord dared raise a hand against the poor girl in Anders’ presence.

“Peace Orana.  You are dismissed.”  Falon’Din said with a wave of his hand, sending the girl scurrying from the room.

“Masterful control you have over your slaves my _Lord_ , most impressive how you have the poor girl frightened into submission.”  Anders sneered, too angry to even consider being afraid.

“She is my acolyte, not a slave.”  The Deity growled, his swirling markings flaring for a brief moment.

The human took a step forward to tower over the elf.  “ _Right_.  And I suppose part of her ‘religious practice’ involves those charming gauntlets of yours smacking her around on occasion, judging by the way the poor girl flinches at the slightest movement?!”

Falon’Din opened and closed his mouth incredulously for several seconds before his lips finally snapped shut in a thin hardened line.  “How _dare_ you Shemlen?!  You know _nothing_!”

“I believe I know your kind well enough.”  Anders scoffed, his lip curled in disgust.  “You Gods think nothing of abducting people to be your playthings and ordering others to do your bidding!  You sit on your thrones and push your weight around to shape the world as you see fit, no matter who you crush to accomplish it!  So what if a few dozen slaves die during construction, as long as you get your statues and temples proclaiming your glory!  What rights does a slave have not to be raped or beaten, they are just property after all, a thing to be used and thrown away!”

“Do not speak of things you do not understand!"  Falon'Din snarled through clenched teeth.  "You throw your words as carelessly as you loose your arrows, swing your swords and wildly fling your magic in feeble attempts to match our prowess, destroying everything around you in your clumsy ignorance!  Like a child dressing up in his Father’s armor, you only serve to make yourselves look foolish and weak!”

“Then if you elven Gods are so much better than us lowly _Shemlen_ , why not teach us?!”  Falon’Din made to open his mouth with a biting retort, but Anders did not allow him a rebuttal, “I’ll tell you why, because you care more for sitting in your ivory towers and looking down your noses at us as we struggle rather than using your _infinite_ power and wisdom for the good of _all_ this world’s inhabitants, rather than your own selfish and petty desires!”

Falon’Din’s markings flared bright as he shoved the human against the wall and sunk his hand into his chest to cradle his racing heart in his armored grasp.  “Cease your prattle and listen well Shemlen.”  Falon’Din spoke with deadly calm, “We elves _have_ shared our wisdom with your kind before, and the Shemlen of the north now use the knowledge we gave them in good faith to wage war against us, enslaving and killing my brothers and sisters by the thousands!  I do not trust your kind and I _never_ will.  You pollute our teachings and destroy the earth with your careless folly!  There is nothing you Shemlen have touched that you have not spoiled!”  He pulled his hand free with a snarl, leaving nary a mark on the gasping human’s chest.  “Stay out of my sight Shemlen.  You would do well not to try my patience further.”  He finished in a bitter whisper and vanished in a blinding flash of blue.

Anders broke out into a cold sweat and sunk to the floor, his hands shaking as he double checked that his chest was still intact after having his heart in the grip of Death himself.     

 

* * *

 

Fenris held his head in his hands as he sulked in a high backed chair before the fireplace in his personal quarters.  That had not gone at all to plan.  He had followed the Shemlen out of the hall, intent on protecting Orana should he try to take his frustration at his captivity out on her.  But rather than a raging mage lashing out like a cornered animal, the charming healer Fenris had seen that fateful day in the village had made a return appearance.  He had treated Orana with such genuine respect and kindness that Fenris’ heart had skipped a beat at the thought of having another chance to see that warm smile on his lips once more, and perhaps see his golden eyes light up with something other than hatred and resentment when they met his.  Perhaps they could try again...

Suffice it to say, it had not gone well.

“So, Deceit tells me your interactions with our resident Shemlen have gone ‘splendidly’,” Leto took a seat in the chair beside his brother’s, a glass of red wine in hand to serve as a peace offering, “ _That_ bad brother?”  He asked with a sympathetic wince.

“Yes, _that_ bad.”  Fenris mumbled through his hands, lacking even the energy to be annoyed at his brother’s terminal nosiness.  “He accused me of being a power hungery slave monger, and I blamed him for every wrong the Shemlen have ever committed.”  He grumbled as he finally raised his head and snatched the wine from Leto’s outstretched hand with a glare.  “I must say your matchmaking skills leave much to be desired brother.”

“Do not be so certain, it has only been one day.  Give him time to settle in and perhaps his opinions of you will soften.”

“It does not matter.  I do not intend to seek him out during his stay, and I highly doubt he will seek my company either.  I shall simply count the days until the next full moons and be happy to see the back of him.”  He scoffed bitterly.

Leto quirked an eyebrow behind his fall of dark hair, a teasing smirk playing at his lips.  “I dare say you might enjoy the view brother.”

The tips of Fenris ears heated as he realized the unintended double meaning in his remark.  He groaned and kicked his brother in the shin before taking a long pull of wine.


	4. Chapter Four

Anders spent his first week as the reluctant pet of Falon’Din examining his cage and seeking out its weaknesses.  Other than the entrance to his manor and the throne room, both rooms clearly designed to intimidate, the rest of Falon’Din’s household looked much the same as Anders’ quarters.  Deep rich colors and warm inviting spaces met him around every corner, the furnishings subtly masculine without being overstated or cluttered.  He had found the corridor that led to Falon’Din and Dirthamen’s private quarters, but had been politely asked not to enter by another of the pair’s ‘acolytes’, this one a male with three bold lines tattooed across his forehead and running down his temples.  In fact, all of the servants he had come across, which had admittedly been fewer in number than he had expected, seemed to have different facial tattoos.  It was Anders’ understanding that the Gods marked their slaves with a specific design, like branding cattle to advertise the creature’s ownership.  The lack of a consistent pattern to mark The Dread Lord Falon’Din’s slaves was curious to say the least.

Many things about the realm of Falon’Din were curious.  The elf had spoken of the moon cycle, but Anders wondered at how they could tell a day had passed at all, as it was always night there.  The sky hung heavy with ever present storm clouds that occasionally rumbled with thunder or flashed with lightning, but never seemed to yield any rain.  Anders could only assume that any precipitation might dare to encourage some sort of growth in this dead realm, and that simply wouldn’t do.  When Anders had questioned Orana on why the sun never rose here, she had told him that this place was called ‘Setheneran’ or ‘Land of waking dreams’, so it stood to reason it was always nighttime.  She had unfortunately gone back to calling him simply ‘Master’ and had been behaving steadily colder to him each time he would concernedly ask about her treatment by her fearsome Master, or encourage her to question or outright defy her orders if they did not suit her.  It was a shame, because Anders genuinely liked the girl and had hoped that she might be a confidant, perhaps even a friend in this strange and lonely place, though sadly it seemed it was not to be. 

He had finally visited the kitchens when his stomach could take it no longer.  He had been offered meals, many times, but he had turned down every one.  Velanna had told stories of those that ate the food in Falon’Din’s realm and could never return.  In fact even Falon’Din himself had cryptically warned him not to eat anything he was not expressly told to.  Anders figured the less he came in contact with the food here, the better.  Though after three days he conceded he had to eat something.  The kitchen staff had been as helpful and polite as Orana had been and had quickly prepared him a savory stew that they assured him was ‘safe’.  The fact that they had seen the need to specify seemed to lead credence to the stories, and Anders vowed to eat only when absolutely starving, even if the stew had been sinfully delicious.

As for his avenues of escape, it unfortunately seemed there where none to be found.  He had searched the perimeter around the sparse and barren estate and had only found walls of shifting light and shadow blocking him at every turn.  If he looked into the hazy fog long enough, he swore he saw strange twisted shapes slinking through the swirling darkness.  Anders shivered and backed away, intent on finding another way out.  In desperation he had tried snooping in the basement, creeping through dripping catacombs and empty dungeons, hoping for some sort of tunnel that would lead him back to the mortal realm.  Anders knew the notion was foolish, but he couldn’t abide sitting idly by and cheerfully accepting his captivity.  He had been caught poking around where he shouldn’t be several times by acolytes and Dirthamen’s bloody ravens more than once, and he had garnered a bit of a reputation for his persistent escape attempts. 

Despite his misbehavior, Anders hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Falon’Din since their explosive argument when last they met.  Anders couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful, but a small contrary part of him felt a bit insulted at the elf’s seeming loss of interest in his Shemlen guest.  At times he would catch himself wondering what the elven God was doing, what he was thinking about, whether or not his lips were set in that deep frown that seemed permanently fixed upon his handsome features, only to wonder at himself why he cared at all.

So occupied was he with unwanted thoughts of the grim God that he nearly missed it… a tiny irregularity in the shimmering wall surrounding Falon’Din’s realm.  Anders’ heart sped with excitement as he saw his chance for freedom.  He took a deep breath and edged into the small gap.  The path turned sharply a short way in, no doubt to camouflage the only means of escape from this dreary place.  The wind whipped wildly in the narrow corridor between the swirling mists, biting and cold as it tried to steal his breath away.  _Just a bit further._   Anders thought hopefully as he pressed on. 

Just when he truly began to worry, the path spilled out into a new area.  His hopes fell is he looked up to see the same clouded endless night stretching on into eternity, but his breath caught at what he saw below the darkened sky.  He found himself on a hill covered in soft lush grass, the only life he had yet found in his exploration… aside from the glittering trees blossoming below.  Anders walked slowly down the gentle slope to walk amidst the small orchard, the faint light shifting along the walls of his prison flickering against dark glossy leaves that sheltered large ripe apples glowing an otherworldly bright blue, much like the markings that adorned Falon’Din’s body. 

Anders found himself moving forward toward the shining fruit without conscious thought, the beautiful light seeming to call to something deep within him.  His magic stirred in his veins as he drew closer, the air around him sparking with lightning as fire sprouted from his left hand uncalled for.  Anders paid it no mind, suddenly concerned with nothing but reaching the crisp and perfect apples that shone with starlight and sung in tune with the power inside him.  Tendrils of ice sprung from his fingertips and crept up his arm in fine crystalline patterns as he reached toward the fruit…

 

* * *

 

Falon’Din sat in his darkened throne room, grim and serious as death as he waited to be called to his terrible purpose, when a call of a different sort rang out in the cavernous hall.

“The Shemlen pet will never find the orchard!  Never!”  Deceit croaked frantically as he upset himself from his perch in the rafters to flap noisily across the hall toward the elven God.  “He will never eat the fruit!”

Fenris’ heart stopped at the raven’s warning.  “No.”  He whispered in anguish as he vanished in a flare of blue, praying he would not be too late.

 

* * *

 

A fearful raven’s cry echoed somewhere that seemed very far away, but Anders paid it no heed, the song coming from the beautiful apples overwhelming his senses and filling his soul as he touched the fruit and pulled it from the tree.

His mouth watered with heady anticipation as he raised his shining prize to take a bite-

“Foolish Shemlen!” 

The sharp sting of pain that followed the apple being slapped away snapped him out of his trance.  Anders shook his head in an attempt to clear it and blinked owlishly at the furious countenance of Falon’Din.  If he thought he had seen him angry before, it was nothing compared to the fury he now saw burning in his emerald eyes.  The elf stood clenching his fists and breathing hard, as though he had run a marathon to reach him, his white hair mused and his frame stiff with tension. 

“Fa- Falon’Din?”  Anders murmured dumbly, his eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to remember where he was and how exactly he had gotten there.

“What did I tell you?!  What did I expressly forbid you do when you arrived?!  Never eat anything in this place that you have not been told is safe!”  The angry Deity shouted.

“It was just an apple!”  Anders huffed indignantly.

Falon’Din scoffed and began to pace.  “Just an apple?!  Your ignorance astounds me Shemlen!  These are no ordinary apples!”

Anders glared and crossed his arms in subconscious fortification as he recalled the last time he had angered the elven God.  “Yes the blue glowing rather gave that away.”

“Do not make light of your transgression!  Do you not understand what you have nearly done?!”

“No!  No I bloody don’t!”  The human shouted back, his arms raised in frustration.  “In your own words, I do not belong here!  I know you thought I would sit obediently in my room like a good little pet so you can sate your sick curiosity with the wild and mysterious Shemlen, but I for one would like to go home!  You’ve trapped me here in this dreary wasteland that never sees the sun and you’d have to be an idiot to think I’d sit idly by in my cage!  I was looking for a way out and found your bloody glowing orchard instead!”

“Do you not think I would release you if I could?!  I seek to hold no one against their will!”  Falon’Din countered fiercely.

“What about your slaves?!  I have met more than a few slaves lucky enough to escape the servitude of the Gods, and I know that for every one fortunate enough to flee your tyranny, there are dozens more that are not so lucky!”

The elf clenched his fists and looked away with a scoff.  “You insult me with your every breath Shemlen.  You accuse me of monstrous acts, the sort of cruel behavior expected of the Dread Lord Falon’Din… you know _nothing_.”  He finished bitterly, the statement barely more than a whisper and filled with far more sadness than anger.

“I- that is-“ Anders floundered, suddenly at a loss.  It was far easier to lash out at a cruel God than the sad and defeated looking creature that stood before him.

Falon’Din wordlessly turned to pluck a glowing apple from the tree they stood beneath and studied it, speaking almost as much to himself as the man in front of him.  “These trees grow atop a vein of lyrium, that is the reason they glow as they do.  It is a magical and dangerous substance that originates from the Beyond.  It is what these markings are made of… what allows me to travel between worlds where others cannot tread.”  He absently ran a gauntleted finger down the strange graceful lines that ran along his throat to disappear beneath his tunic.  Falon’Din finally looked up to meet Anders’ amber gaze, his emerald eyes more open than he had ever seen them and betraying a fathomless sadness that made the healer’s heart clench.  “My realm is neither in the mortal plain nor the Beyond, a place of dreams and nightmares teetering along the edge of life and death.  The living cannot stay here for more than a moon cycle or two without growing ill, or going mad.  To stay in this place you must consume lyrium to attune your mortal vessel to the call from the Beyond.  Once done, it cannot be undone, and you cannot remain in the mortal realm too long without needing the closeness of the Beyond to sooth the pain.  To eat the fruit is not a decision to be taken lightly.  Each and every one of my acolytes knows full well the price before they choose whether or not to partake.”

“I didn’t know… I- I’m sorry.”  Anders breathed, too shocked by the fantastical explanation and the elf’s calm yet sullen demeanor to say much else.

“Yes, perhaps- perhaps I should have told you from the start.”  Falon’Din said with a small frown before he seemed to remember himself and hardened his expression, his dark brows furrowed with a faint scowl.  “Now that you know the consequences, you are not to ever return to this orchard!  Is that understood Shemlen?!”

“Anders.”  The human answered with narrowed eyes.

Falon’Din raised his eyebrows incredulously.  “What?”

“You tell me I am not your prisoner or your pet, so perhaps you could try treating me like a person.  My name is not _Shemlen_ , its Anders.”

The elf’s jaw clenched, but he otherwise betrayed no emotion as he seemed to consider the man’s request.  “Very well… Anders.”  His tone softened by a fraction.  “Is that understood?”

Anders nodded solemnly, “Yes.”

“Very well, follow me and do not stray.  If you do not wish to be treated as a pet, perhaps you should make a concerted effort to not need rescuing from a tree.”

Anders’ golden eyes widened as he could have _sworn_ he saw the ghost of a smirk flicker across Falon’Din’s lips as he turned to leave, but surely it must have been his imagination.


	5. Chapter Five

After what became known around the manor as the ‘orchard incident’, Anders could only assume that Falon’Din had decided a more healthy and productive outlet for his Shemlen’s pent up energy was needed.  Apparently the prickly God was too busy to take him for walkies however, which is how Anders found himself staring down the elf’s doppelganger as he stood in the middle of the manor’s spacious practice arena.

Dirthamen seemed to be at once the reflection and polar opposite of Falon’Din, and to see them both was as fascinating as it was unsettling.  His features and build were identical to that of his far grouchier brother, and even his voice sounded the same, though Dirthamen often spoke with a lighter air that somehow managed to be both carefree and guarded.  His eyes were the same emerald green as well, though they lacked the fathomless quality of Falon’Din’s gaze, Dirthamen’s eyes absent of the flashes of anger or flickers of melancholy that his brother exhibited, or so well hidden as to reveal nothing.  Curiously, Dirthamen also lacked his brother’s striking white hair and graceful markings on his olive skin, his hair instead a deep coffee brown.  When Anders had bluntly questioned him on the twins’ difference of appearance, the enigmatic God had simply smiled and said, “Hmmm, I wonder?”

That was his stock answer to many of Anders questions, and he supposed he shouldn’t have expected any different from the God of secrets, but it was frustrating all the same.  In the three days he had met with him to learn about and hone his magic, Anders felt he had gained little more than a set of fresh bruises every session.

“The Shemlen pet is a master of the arcane arts!  A master!” 

Anders groaned and slowly picked himself up from where he lay sprawled out on the floor in a singed heap… again.  “I’m on to your game you know,” he shouted to the rafters to address the meddlesome raven, “And you’d best keep your beak shut if you don’t want to become a feather duster!”

“Quiet Deceit, the Shemlen pet will pluck you and burn you and-“

He ignored Fear’s increasingly hysterical ramblings as he dusted himself off and faced his tutor.  Dirthamen gave him one of his patented infuriatingly smug smirks, as if he knew something Anders did not, which was no doubt the case, but it grated none the less.  “Now now Anders, you can hardly fault Deceit for your lack of focus.”  He chided with a teasing grin.

“I know I _know_!”  Anders groaned as he took up a ready stance, his back aching as he tensed for the next barrage.  “Just stop shooting fireballs so bloody fast and give me a _chance_ to focus will you?!”

“You must have kind enemies indeed, to give you such ample time to gather your power.”  Dirthamen made an exaggerated show of yawning, “Very well Shemlen, I shall give you five seconds.”

Anders thought very seriously of being insulted, but a bloody second had already ticked by.  _Shit shit shit!_   He reached for his magic, groping for something fast and sharp to shock that smug smirk from the elf’s face… Anders smiled when sparks of lightning began to dance wildly at his fingertips.  _Now to build up the charge and-_

“…4 …5!”

The elven God shot out his arm, the air thickening with a scent of ozone, and Anders’ world went white.  Once his all too familiar vision of the ceiling returned, complete with two obnoxious ravens staring down at him from the rafters, Anders groaned over the residual ringing in his ears and drug himself up to stand shakily and glare.

“Now what have we learned?”  Dirthamen asked with infuriating calm.

“That you’re a bastard?”  Anders grumbled petulantly.

The elf gave a good natured bark of laughter.  “Yes, but be that as it may-“  He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

Anders sighed heavily and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “I need to get faster, _better_ at channeling my magic.”

Dirthamen favored him with a smile absent of the usual smug arrogance that so often colored his expressions.  “There may just be hope for you yet.”

Anders scoffed.  “ _Really_?  I can feel the magic inside me and I know what I want to do with it, but it’s so hard to- to pull it all together and get it to do what I want!”  He knew he was straying dangerously close to whining territory, but at this point he was so exhausted and frustrated he hardly cared. 

“Yes, it doesn’t seem to be a problem with how much power you have, of which there is plenty, but how to _focus_ it.”  Dirthamen placed a finger to his chin for a moment in thought.  “I think I have just the thing!”  He finally exclaimed with a clap of hands as he beckoned him forward.  Anders approached and took the long wooden staff the elf retrieved from a rack along the wall.  “Try using this.  The staff is enchanted with properties that should help you focus your magic and bend it to your will more easily.”

Anders gave the staff an experimental wave against the ground and was pleased to see the desired ice crystals blossoming along the stone floor with ease.  He smiled and gripped the staff tight like a lifeline.  “Perfect!  Spirits Dirthamen, you’ve been holding out on me!  Why didn’t you give me this before?!”

“It had not occurred to me.  Nearly all elves are blessed with the gift of magic and practice it from an early age.  It comes as easily to us as breathing.”  He smirked as mirth danced in his eyes, “We generally stop using a staff to aid us before the age of twelve winters.”

“Then I suppose I’m a late bloomer.”  Anders grumbled, his cheeks burning with embarrassment but still unwilling to give up the slight advantage he’d just been handed.  He blinked and paused in his examination of the staff as he caught on to something the elf had just said.  “Wait, what do you mean _nearly_ all elves have magic.  I’d always been told all elves have it.” 

A flicker of something like sadness flashed across the elven God’s eyes, there and gone in less than an instant, before being replaced by an inscrutable smirk.  “Hmmm, I wonder?”

Anders rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in frustration.  “Spirits you’re impossible.”

Dirthamen laughed clear and bright and Anders wondered idly if Falon’Din’s laugh would sound the same.  He had trouble imagining such a carefree sound coming from the dour elven God, but Anders found himself wondering at it despite himself.

“The Shemlen pet’s focus is so sharp he will surely block the Master’s attack with his new staff!”

Anders’ eyes widened as he looked up from his foolish musings to glimpse a fireball rapidly zooming toward him.  “Shit!”

 

* * *

 

Anders limped back to his rooms with an aching back, singed eyebrows and a glowing sense of pride and accomplishment.  Dirthamen had undoubtedly wiped the floor with him as usual, but with determination and his increasing familiarity using his new staff, Anders had finally managed to graze the Deity with a bolt of lightning and cause him to take a small step back to steady his balance.  It was a small victory, but a victory none the less, and Anders was more than prepared to run with it.  Figuratively of course.  At the moment the only running he planned on doing was in the direction of his soft and inviting bed.

Upon entering his quarters, he was surprised to find Orana bringing in his evening meal, which Anders was now more than happy to eat as long as none of it glowed.  His elation at the sight of a fresh hot meal was dampened by the way Orana’s frame stiffened at his arrival.  She had been avoiding him of late, ever since the word had spread of his misadventure in the orchard, and Anders found himself at a loss as to what had caused it.  She turned to bow stiffly with a muttered ‘Master’ before she began scurrying for the door.  Bolstered by his meager success in the sparring ring, Anders resolved to take the nug by the tail and get to the bottom of the issue.  

“Orana!  Orana please wait!”  He called plaintively, his hand outstretched in entreaty.

The elf would not meet his eyes as she replied.  “What does the Master require?”

“I don’t require- I just- Orana please talk to me.  Why are you so cross with me?”  Anders rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably.  “Have I done something to offend you?”

Orana gave him a long calculating look, her lips pressed together in a thin line.  “Yes you have!”  She finally snapped, the anger that had been simmering for the better part of a fortnight boiling over at long last.  “You accepted my Lord Falon’Din’s talisman and wear it around your neck, you are an honored guest in his house, yet you treat him with disrespect!  You dare to suggest that My Lord strikes me, that he would _ever_ be unkind to me!  You have been rude and cruel and have disobeyed his orders time and again and I will not stand for it any longer!”  Her eyes met his stunned amber gaze and she seemed to collapse in on herself, her wide moss green eyes filling with tears and her hands flying to her mouth as though she could pull back her words and stuff them back in.  “I am sorry Master, I have spoken above my station, it was not my place!”  She muttered shakily as she bowed all the way to the floor, lower than she had for Falon’Din himself.  Anders’ heart clenched with sorrow and pity as she flinched when he shifted to move toward her, realizing she was fully expecting to be struck.

Anders knelt beside her prostate form and gently laid a soothing hand on her back.  She jumped slightly, but otherwise remained still, her face nearly pressed against the floor.  “Orana, I’m not angry with you.  I asked you a question and you answered.  Thank you for telling me the truth.  Please come up off the floor.  You never need to bow to me.”  Orana sniffled and snuck a shy glance at Anders, and when met with his kind encouraging smile she slowly rose up from her bow to kneel beside him.  Anders used the sleeve of his tunic to gently wipe the tears from her eyes.  “There now, no harm done.  Orana, I will never hurt you.  Do you understand?  Not _ever_.”

She gave him a shaky smile and nodded faintly.  “I know Master Anders. You have a kind heart.  I am sorry for being cross with you.  You simply do not know Lord Falon’Din’s kindness as I do… you do not understand.”  Orana whispered sadly.

As he thought back on the elven girl’s demeanor since the moment they had met, Anders realized it must have taken a great deal of courage for her to stand up to him as she had done, risking herself in defense of Falon’Din.  He was beginning to believe that while the poor thing had clearly been abused in the past, perhaps Falon’Din had not been the culprit.  In fact, when Anders’ admittedly rude behavior had finally pushed the God to any semblance of violence toward him, even then his strange power hadn’t _hurt_ so much as terrified the piss out of him. 

The fact that all the slaves had chosen to be here… the varied assortment of facial markings… the new talisman the girl wore that she now cradled in her shaking hands with a gentle reverence… Anders got the distinct feeling a picture was forming, but he was still missing several pieces.  A large piece of the puzzle now sat right before him, if only he were willing to see it…

“Orana, would you,” Anders caught her hands and squeezed gently, “Would you help me understand?  Could you tell me why you choose to serve him?”

Her lip trembled as her eyes clouded over with painful memories.  “I- I cannot speak of that day…”

“It’s alright, you don’t have-“

“I will show you.”  She breathed, reaching for the human’s forehead and pressing her cool finger tips against it.  “See with my eyes why I choose to follow Lord Falon’Din wherever he may guide me.”

Anders gasped as he felt the sensation of falling…

 

* * *

 

He was in a forest, or rather she was, Orana.  Anders instinctively felt the truth of the elf’s words, he was seeing a memory through her eyes.  And what a memory it was.

Orana was crying, heaving gut wrenching sobs that shook her to the core, as her bloodied hands clutched the lifeless broken body of a male elf with kindly features and greying hair.  “Papa… Papa please… Papa…”  She whimpered, fisting the crimson soaked cloth of her Papa's tunic and giving it a feeble shake.

There was a slain bear lying not far away in the clearing that had served as their battlefield, both sides having lost the fight for survival.

The wind suddenly grew cold as the air before the sobbing girl wavered and parted, revealing the fearsome countenance of Lord Falon’Din himself, his stern eyes boring through her as he glowed with eerie light from the Great Beyond. 

Orana’s stomach filled with cold dread as she bowed low over her Papa's body.  “Dread Lord Falon’Din, please have mercy!  We were sent out to hunt by our Master and came upon the bear by accident!  I know they are favored by your brother the mighty Lord Dirthamen, but my Papa was only trying to protect me!  Please do not leave him to wander the shifting paths alone!”  The girl begged between gasping breaths and hysterical sobs.

Her breath froze in her chest and time itself seemed to freeze as Lord Falon’Din reached forward to gently touch the crown of her soft blonde hair.  “Peace Da’len.”  He spoke softly in a voice made of velvet black as night.  “All living things may pass into the Beyond in their time, elves and bears alike.  Lord Dirthamen is not so cold hearted as to fault a man for protecting his child.”

Orana’s gaze flickered up to see a cloaked kneeling figure in the distance, a raven perched on either shoulder, and a soft sad smile upon his lips.  Her eyes widened in awe as Lord Falon’Din reached straight through her Papa’s body, and the bear’s in turn, to touch something deep within the core of them.  A light shone forth from each of the fallen combatants and their ghostly forms stepped free of their broken mortal shells to gaze at Lord Falon’Din with looks of gratitude.

“Come Lethallin.  Stay close by my side, and I shall lead you home.”  Lord Falon’Din spoke gently with a soft smile.  He then took her Papa’s hand and placed his other palm atop the bear’s mighty head and began to walk away.

“Wait!”  Orana called out desperately, her hand reaching toward the kind and merciful God.  “My Lord, please, take me with you.  Without my Papa I am lost.  Please lead me as you lead him!”

Lord Falon’Din turned to regard her with a sideways glance, his single visible emerald eye betraying a hint of deep sadness shimmering in its depths.  “Where I lead him you cannot follow.  Go back to your Master Da’len, you will find your way in time.”

“No!  _Please_ my Lord.  My Master… he will beat me for failing in my task.  I would rather go into the Beyond than return to him.”  She whimpered, ingrained shame and fear racing through her at speaking ill of her Master.

The God's emerald gaze swept over her Vallaslin, his lips turned down in a frown.  “Lord Elgar’nan is your Master?”  

Orana nodded, her eyes down cast and blurred with tears.

Lord Falon’Din’s brows furrowed as his eyes filled with sharp cold fury.  “He will not harm you for this transgression, you have my word.”  He said with a faint growl.

The elven girl bit her lip and nodded, tears silently spilling down her cheeks as the shining figure before her turned away once more.  “Thank you my Lord.  You have offered me more kindness than I deserve.”

“Do not let anyone tell you that you are not deserving of kindness, even Lord Elgar'nan himself.”  Lord Falon’Din spoke firmly as his brilliant light intensified and the Veil opened up before him.  He took a single step and paused.  “What is your name Da’len?”

“O-Orana my Lord.”

“Orana… my realm is a land of cold and never-ending night, and to serve me is a choice that can never be taken back.  You must understand, once there you may never leave again.  Think over your decision carefully, and if you still wish to follow where I lead, invoke my name when the twin moons are full in the sky, and I shall come for you.”  Lord Falon’Din proclaimed with finality, then stepped through the Veil, the tear in the air sealing neatly behind him as though it had never been. 

A raven cawed overhead and dropped a pendent in her lap, the silver charm in the figure of an owl in flight glinting in the setting sun. 

 

* * *

 

Anders gasped with raw emotion as he tumbled back into his own consciousness.  The healer had gathered Orana’s shaking frame into his arms before he realized he’d done it, his hand rubbing soothing circles along her back as he whispered apology after apology until her tears slowly dried upon his shoulder.


	6. Chapter Six

The throne room lit up in a blaze of bright blue as a single figure stepped through the Veil, his brother’s form appearing in a flurry of dark feathers in his shadow.  Fenris allowed himself a brief moment to lean heavily against the cold stone wall as the throbbing ache of his markings slowly subsided.  Not all souls needed him, some of them ready for the final journey and able to navigate the shifting paths even more swiftly than himself, and so some days passed with nary a call for guidance.  And then… there were days like today.

“Brother, are you well?  Can I get you anything?”  Leto whispered, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he gently grasped his brother’s shoulder, mindful of his painful markings.

“I am well Leto… as well as can be expected.”  Fenris sighed, reveling in the comforting gesture for a moment before he straightened his slouching frame to push off the wall and step away from his brother’s touch. 

Leto frowned.  “You are not well.  You are exhausted Fenris.  The calls have been relentless today.  If another calls, surely they can wander for a time while you rest-“

“Do not say such things!”  Fenris said sharply as he swept a hand before him.  “You know I will never abandon anyone who calls for my aid to walk the shifting paths alone.”

Leto's eyebrows furrowed behind a curtain of dark hair.  “I simply worry for you.”

Fenris’ expression softened.  “I know brother, and I love you for it, but you need not worry.  I am well.”  He said with finality as he turned toward the corridor that led to his private quarters, his brother close behind.  As Fenris neared the juncture to the guest wing, his feet stilled as he contemplated the doorway with furrowed brows. 

“Have you forgotten the way to your quarters in your exhaustion?”  Leto asked with a playful smile, before understanding slowly dawned on his features, which took on an increasingly teasing smirk.  “Ah, going to check on our houseguest are we?”

“It is- I-“ Fenris sputtered, his ears heating rapidly, completely at a loss to explain his compulsion.  How was he to describe his desire to ensure that the Shemlen- _Anders_ was safe and comfortable, when he barely understood it himself?  It wasn’t as though their interactions had endeared the man to him, but when Fenris watched him from afar as he groused at Leto even as he diligently followed his teachings and grew steadily stronger, or when he laughed and smiled for Orana as he traded stories of his people and their customs while awkwardly trying to navigate elven social mores, there was a magnetism about him that continued to draw the elf in.  While his initial illusions of Anders’ perfection had been shattered, Fenris was surprised to find that he found the man’s imperfections just as endearing.  He was fearless to the point of foolhardiness in the face of Gods, relentless in his quest for knowledge, humble when faced with his shortcomings and endlessly sincere in both his praise… and his censure.  Fenris had definitely witnessed his sincerity in that last regard.

Leto pulled him out of his brooding with a soft laugh.  “Do not worry brother, I shall keep your secret well, as always.  Do try not to wake half the manor with your inevitable lover’s quarrel.”

“He is not- we will not- _good night_ Leto!”  Fenris blustered, stomping off down the guest corridor and away from his brother’s gentle laughter.  He had no intention of even talking to Anders, the man probably asleep at this hour anyway.  Fenris would simply peek in, merely to see that he was well, nothing more-  Fenris stopped in his tracks as the gentle notes of a lute floated down the corridor.

“The People sw-“ the note faltered briefly before the correct one was selected, the warm tenor voice continuing on softly, “ _Swore_ their lives to Falon'Din, who mastered the da- da-“ a soft curse was uttered as callused fingers fumbled along the strings, “ _Dark_ that lies.”

Fenris had activated his markings and slipped through the closed door before he could think better of it, and the sight that met his eyes stole his breath away.  Anders sat on a low stool before the fire with his back to the door, his figure silhouetted in gold as he bent over a lute with singular focus.  His hair was damp and hung in gentle curls and waves to rest lightly upon his shoulders, his tall lanky frame clad only in a loose fitting white cotton tunic and soft buckskin leggings, clearly prepared for sleep.  Fenris stood enchanted by the vision as Anders clumsily continued the gentle melody.

“Whose shadows hunger, whose faithful si- si- _si_ -“ his fingers sought out the correct note as a huff of breath sent a lock of red gold hair fluttering before him, “Bugger!”

“I see they have changed the lyrics since I last heard that song played.”  Fenris spoke up with a gentle rumble, a fondly amused smirk upon his lips.

“Bloody sodding SHIT!”  The fire flared bright in the hearth as Anders flailed momentarily in panic, scrambling to turn and face the intruder.

Falon’Din’s emerald eyes widened as he froze, internally scolding himself for shattering the fragile beauty of the moment with his foolish desire to be a part of it.  “I- that is- forgive me.  I did not mean to intrude.”  He uttered, his familiar frown slipping back into place like the well-worn mask it was.

“Didn’t mean to- Spirits you’re standing in my room, _staring_ at me, in the middle of the night!  Not that it isn’t always night in this bloody place, but you know what I mean!”  Anders huffed indignantly.

Fenris’ heart hammered in his chest as he fought not to fidget under the other man’s glare.  This had been a mistake.  “I- I will disturb you no further.”  The elven God pronounced coldly, his jaw tensing as he turned toward the door.

Anders’ hand tightened on the neck of the lute as the subject of his song, and his increasingly frequent and confused thoughts, retreated.  “W- wait!”  Anders exclaimed, taking a deep breath before continuing, “You’re not- it’s- you just _surprised_ me is all.  Just, perhaps knock next time?  I- I wouldn’t have minded, if you’d wanted to come in…”  He trailed off, his eyes flitting to the ground as a faint blush rose to his cheeks.  “We really should get you a bell…” he mumbled faintly almost entirely to himself.

“I did not wish to interrupt your playing.”  Fenris spoke softly, _carefully_ , a faint hope growing in his chest at Anders’ words.  “I apologize for entering unannounced.”

Anders chuckled softly, and a measure of tension left Fenris’ tense frame at the beautiful sound.  “’Playing’ is an awfully strong word.  Orana just started trying to teach me, but I’m afraid I’m rather rubbish at it.”

“As with all things, it merely takes practice, and you could ask for no better teacher.  Orana is the finest lute player in all of Setheneran.  She often plays in the gardens with Nethras and Adanna on the drum and reed pipe respectively.”

Anders noted the look of fondness, and even pride that flitted across Falon'Din's features as he spoke of his acolytes' accomplishments, and gave the elf a long calculating look.  “You know all of their names don’t you?”

“Of course.”  Falon’Din answered with mild incredulity, “My acolytes have pledged their lives in service to my brother and myself, the very least I can do is learn their names and interests.”  The elven God’s response earned him his first full honest smile from Anders, and it lit up the night.  Fenris swallowed thickly, resolutely ignoring the burning of his ears.  “Surely that is not so surprising?”

The human gave Falon’Din a curious look then, as though he were seeing him for the first time.  “No… I suppose it isn’t.”  He answered with a soft smile as he looked down to absently fiddle with the strings beneath his fingers.

“Try again- the song I mean.”  Falon’Din suggested somewhat awkwardly, even as he boldly made his way across the room to kneel before the other man, putting himself at eye level with the instrument in his hands.  “I may not be as adept as Orana, but perhaps I can assist?”

Anders flushed and nodded faintly, his fingers nervously fumbling their way onto the strings.  “Ahem, Th- the People swore their lives to Falon'Din, who master- er- _ered_ the dark that lies.  Whose shadows hunger, whose faithful si- si- _si_ -“ Fenris carefully placed a gauntleted finger upon the correct string to press firmly against the fret, the note Anders sought ringing out strong and true.  Anders met his eyes and smiled warmly with a soft huff of laughter.  “Thanks.  I always miss that one.”  He placed his finger on the spot the elf had marked.  “ _Sing_ , whose wings of death surround him, thick as night- Do you really have wings?”  He asked, his hands stilled upon the lute and a skeptical eyebrow quirked as he peered toward the elven God’s shoulders, as though wings might suddenly sprout under his scrutiny.

Fenris’ lips twitched in a faint smirk.  “No, I do not.  I can only imagine they are confusing me with my brother, who is rarely seen without his ravens, as you well know.”  Anders scoffed and rolled his eyes, causing Fenris’ smirk to widen.  “Though I am no great scryer either, as I simply come when I am called rather than using any sense of premonition.  Perhaps these things simply make for a better story.  Rather like how they kindly leave out how _short_ I am.”  The elf deadpanned with a significantly raised brow.

Anders had the good grace to look embarrassed as he scrubbed a hand across his face.  “Spirits, I may be a bit of an arse, did I not mention that earlier?”

Fenris smothered a laugh with a faint cough.  “It is no matter-“

“And it’s not as though you can _help_ being short.”  Anders murmured, a teasing smirk upon his lips and a mischief dancing in his amber eyes that made Fenris’ heart flutter.  The human turned his golden gaze to the lute once more to tentatively pluck out the next notes.  “Lethan- Lethanveer?”

“Lethanavir.”  Fenris pronounced with careful encouragement.

“ _Lethanavir_ , not-so-master-scryer,” Anders smirked and winked, “Be our guide, through shapeless worlds and airless skies.”  He finished with a shakily exhaled breath and carefully placed the instrument beside the hearth. 

“Well done.”  Fenris breathed, basking in the golden glow of the dancing fire painting shadows and highlights in Anders' red gold hair and playing at the light dusting of freckles across his nose. 

Anders grinned, his eyes crinkling around the edges.  “Flatterer.  It’s a nice song… but it makes me wonder…” he began, locking his amber gaze with the elven God’s and continuing seriously, “Falon’Din, there’s something I don’t understand.  This song, as well as any stories I’ve heard of you, they all portray you as a helpful God that gives guidance to the lost.  Why then do they also whisper your name with fear and call you ‘Dread Lord’?”

Falon’Din sighed heavily.  “No matter how many souls I guide through the shifting paths, or how grateful they and their loved ones are for my service, living beings seldom _want_ to die.  The only time I venture into the mortal realm is when the souls of the dead or dying call to me, making my presence a rather ill omen.  I am a friend to the dead, but rarely am I a welcome guest among the living.”  He finished with a grim smirk, a deep loneliness showing through the glimmering emerald façade of indifference in his eyes.

Anders’ heart clenched and he felt himself quickly losing the battle to not reach out and try to comfort the other man, his hand twitching in his lap as he haltingly began, “Falon’Din, I-“  His breath caught in his throat as the God’s markings flared in a pulsing rhythm, his emerald eyes flinching closed in a grimace of pain that was there and gone in less than a second.

“I am being called.”  Falon’Din straightened from his crouch to tower above the seated human in a vision of stunning blue.  “I- I bid you good night Anders.”

“Yes- I-“  Anders gulped and struggled to pick his moonstruck jaw up off the floor.  “Good night… Falon’Din.”

With a nod and a faint smile upon his lips, Falon’Din disappeared in a blaze of light.


	7. Chapter Seven

Anders trailed behind Dirthamen as they made their way toward the practice arena to continue the mage’s magical education.  That was what the elf had called him during their last lesson, a ‘mage’.  Anders decided he liked the sound if it.  His people didn’t have a name for what he was, other than ‘demon’ or ‘monster’.  ‘Mage’ sounded official, respectable even.  Anders had the stray thought that it wouldn’t be so bad for Falon’Din to call him a ‘mage’ in that dark velvet voice of his.  Though admittedly, Falon’Din was quickly becoming the main subject of his thoughts of late, rather than a simple stray musing. 

As they moved through the manor, Anders thoughts drifted back to his quarters, the wavering notes of the ‘Song to Falon’Din’ floating on the air as the subject of the piece knelt before him.  The memories of the fleeting moment they had shared last night were still fresh in his mind, but possessed a sleepy soft quality around the edges, as though it had been a pleasant dream.  At times he nearly convinced himself it had been, but surely Anders’ subconscious would not have been able to imagine the awkwardly endearing way the seemingly aloof God had conducted himself, nor the heartbreaking loneliness he had glimpsed in the deep forest green of his gaze.  Falon’Din had undoubtedly visited him last night, seemingly summoned by the song that sang of his kind deeds, and though they clearly still had work to do on his unfortunate penchant for sneaking up on him, Anders’ irritation at being watched had been overridden by his curiosity, and in all honesty, pleasant surprise at his appearance.   

If anything could be said for his adventure in the elven God’s realm, it was that he certainly had plenty of time to think.  When he wasn’t training his magic with Dirthamen or chatting with Orana in between her daily tasks, Anders was left entirely to his own devices with nothing to do but think back on his strange journey… and reflect on what an arse he had made of himself during the majority of it. 

With each story Orana regaled him of Falon’Din’s kindness and mercy, and after each brief interaction with the ‘Dread Lord’ himself, Anders had slowly and somewhat painfully come to realize that the terminally dour but undeniably kind elf with sad emerald eyes did not deserve the harsh words he had thrown at him.  The more he learned of Falon’Din’s actions and character, the more it seemed his only crime was possessing an overly serious disposition, and damn it all if Anders wasn’t starting to find his grouchiness a tad endearing as well, now that he had begun to view the man in a new light.  He was beginning to see many endearing qualities in the admittedly handsome elf, and Anders couldn’t deny that his initial purely physical attraction was beginning to morph into something altogether more tender when he pictured Falon’Din’s stunning emerald gaze and blushing ears… or his full lips, so often turned down in a frown, but capable of subtle smirks and soft smiles in his more unguarded moments… imagining how they might feel pressed against Anders’ own…

His musings were cut short rather abruptly as his inattention caused him to crash into Dirthamen, who stood firm at the edge of the training grounds.  “Sorry!”  Anders muttered, quickly taking a step back as Deceit nipped at him from his perch atop his Master’s shoulder.  “Why have we stop-“

Anders’ breath caught in his throat as he peered around the dark haired elf to glimpse what held them up.  There in the center of the arena stood Falon’Din, muscles tensed and sword in hand as he walked through a training exercise.  No, ‘walked’ was far too coarse a word to describe the graceful flow of lean muscle and perfect form that he exhibited.  He and his blade were _dancing_.  Lean but powerful legs leapt and pivoted away from an invisible opponent before stalking forward with measured strides to counter, his long two handed blade moving effortlessly through the air as though it were an extension of his well-toned arms.  His markings flared periodically as he battled his imaginary foe, the technique perhaps intended to distract or bewitch his enemy.  Whether that was the true reason or not, Anders certainly found himself ensnared, unable to tear his eyes away from the light flickering against the silver blade, or catching on beads of sweat that crept down the elf’s neck in a tantalizing path that the mage found himself absently wishing to follow with his tongue-

“ _Ahem_.”  Dirthamen pointedly cleared his throat.

Anders jumped and looked at the walls adorned with weapons, his reflection in the smooth onyx floor, the bloody ravens staring smugly back at him,  _anywhere_  but Dirthamen and his all too knowing grin.  The human told himself that if he ignored the heat burning on his cheeks, perhaps it would go away.

His only comfort was that Falon’Din seemed just as surprised to have an audience as Anders had been at being caught enjoying the show so thoroughly.  “Le-“ he began, turning and widening his emerald eyes in shock before quickly schooling his expression into his typical frown and clearing his throat, “Dirthamen.”  He nodded in greeting.  “Exactly how long have you been standing there?”  Anders couldn’t help but notice how the tips of Falon’Din’s ears blushed a deep pink despite his attempt at a fearsome countenance leveled at his brother.

Dirthamen for his part seemed utterly unaffected by his brother’s glare, his eyes dancing with amusement at their mutual embarrassment.  “Long enough dear brother.  I know how you hate being interrupted.”

Falon’Din growled faintly and sheathed the sword before returning it to its place along the wall.  “I am finished now, the space is yours.”  He grumbled as he passed them and beat a hasty retreat for the exit.

“Falon’Din.”  Dirthamen called out, stopping his brother in his tracks.  “Perhaps you would like to stay and watch for a while.  I am sure Anders would love for you to witness his improvement first hand.”

Anders gulped and gave a faintly panicked look to his tutor, only to be met with the elven God’s infernally smug grin.  He leaned in to whisper frantically, “What are you playing at Dirthamen?!  I’ve barely improved at all, I’m going to make a fool of myself!”

“Hmmm, I wonder?”  Dirthamen replied, as always.  “You very often make a fool of yourself during your lessons, as you are well aware.  The real question is… why do you care so much all of a sudden, now that Falon’Din is watching?”

Anders’ face burned beet red as he sputtered and stomped into the arena, raising up his staff in a defensive stance.  _Bloody poncy elf and his smug grin… absolutely no help at all… I **don’t** care… not one bit…_

He made the mistake of glancing up to meet Falon’Din’s emerald eyes from across the arena, his arms folded across his chest and his eyebrow quirked in interest.  Anders suddenly found his throat to be far too dry as he swallowed thickly… and was promptly laid out flat by a fireball to the chest.

After picking himself up and patting out the embers on his tunic, the mage threw himself wholeheartedly into defeating Dirthamen.  Well, perhaps _defeating_ was a bit too lofty a goal, but not letting himself be knocked down to skid across the polished floor might be nice.  He _was_ knocked down, twice more in fact, but he managed to block a good many of the elf’s attacks and even got in a fireball or two of his own.  Just as Anders was beginning to feel that he hadn’t made a _complete_ fool out of himself, the bloody raven chimed in.

“The Shemlen pet should not be embarrassed, he has made a fine showing for Lord Falon’Din!  Splendid!  Superb!”  Deceit crowed with an excited fluttering of his wings from Dirthamen’s shoulder, seemingly so sure of Anders’ incompetence that he felt safe perching in the line of fire.  Anders grit his teeth and gripped his staff so tight it ached, his steps faltering as Dirthamen summoned frost beneath the mage’s feet.  “Lord Falon’Din will not think less of him for using a child’s toy in battle with Master Dirthamen!”

“Shut up!”  Anders snapped, jumping back from the slick floor and sending a wild bolt of lightning too far to the left of his target.

“His aim is flawless!  Perfect!”

Dirthamen used the opening the mage’s failed motion created to send a searing fireball toward him.  Anders braced himself, but soon breathed a sigh of relief as the attack missed its mark, falling short and meeting the ground before him instead.

“How do you like that Feather Duster?!  Your Master doesn’t seem to have any better aim than I!”  Anders taunted with a grim smirk directed at the blasted raven.

 “The Shemlen pet’s victory is close at hand!”

Cold dread gripped Anders’ chest at the raven’s cawed laughter, his eyes widening as he noticed water pooling at his feet.  His gaze followed the trickle of water back to a large puddle in the very spot Dirthamen’s fireball had hit… the very same spot where the elf had made a sheet of ice at the mage’s feet moments earlier.  Anders had only a fraction of a second to look up at Dirthamen and experience what true panic meant as he glimpsed the dark smirk he wore… before the elven God’s fingertips sparked with lightning.

 _Knickerweasels_. 

The resulting charged blast of electricity sent the mage sailing a good yard before slamming to the ground in a smoking heap.  Anders knew full well that the elf must have used incredible restraint to have only jolted him rather than knocking him unconscious or killing him outright, but somehow he couldn’t find it in him to be grateful.  He grit his teeth and shakily rose to his feet, only staggering slightly as he bent to retrieve his staff.

“Perhaps that is enough for today Anders.”  Dirthaman commented benignly, seemingly neither concerned for the mage’s wellbeing nor pleased with his victory, his tone betraying nothing as usual.

“A marvelous victory for the Shemlen pet!  Lord Falon’Din is surely impressed!”  Deceit croaked smugly from the relative safety of his Master’s shoulder.

“Quiet Deceit!”  The until now silent Fear hissed from her spot on Dirthamen’s opposite shoulder, her head hidden in the elf’s dark nest of hair, as though she thought it would render her invisible.  “He will burn you!”

“But that would ruin the feather duster I promised to make of his sorry hide… perhaps pluck him then spit roast him…”  Anders grumbled to himself as he straightened his faintly singed hair and tunic, resolutely looking at the ground rather than Falon’Din’s no doubt less than impressed expression.

“Fly Deceit!  The Shemlen pet’s fire hurts!  Fly!”

“He will overcome Master Dirthamen to claim us!”  Deceit cackled, “Defeat him easily and roast us both!”

Fear cawed mournfully and hunkered down against her Master’s neck.

Anders rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know why you keep those awful things around Dirthamen.”  He held up a hand dramatically, “No, wait, let me guess!  Hmmm, I wonder?”  The mage scoffed, sending a sullen glare in Deceit’s direction.

Dirthamen chuckled softly and laid a gentle hand on Fear’s shaking body.  “It is no great secret.  Fear and Deceit are but creatures made as the Creators intended, no more, no less.  They are no different than you or I in that regard.”  He turned to affectionately toy with the soft beard of feathers beneath Deceit’s inky black beak.  “It is not our place to judge whether they are good or evil, wonderful or terrible, but to simply accept them as they are.  When left to their own devices they can be a great menace indeed, but with a bit of understanding and a firm hand, they have become my treasured friends.”

As Anders watched his feathered nemesis fairly melt into a puddle at his Master’s caress, softly chittering his beak and nuzzling his head against him affectionately, he sighed in defeat.  “Alright, I’m sorry.”  He muttered, still not fond of the corvid little bastard, but conceding there may be some truth in Dirthamen’s words. 

Dirthamen smirked and gave him a sideways glance.  “It is not me to whom you should be apologizing.”

Anders huffed softly, feeling a bit like a scolded child, but approached Deceit regardless.  “I’m sorry Deceit.”  He said solemnly, surprised to find he actually meant it.

“I forgive you.”  The raven croaked.

Dirthamen frowned sternly.  “ _Deceit_.”

The bird had the good grace to look ashamed.  “I will never forgive the Shemlen pet.”  He mumbled.

Anders couldn’t help but chuckle at the bird’s ruffled feathers, both literal and figurative, at having been made to play nice.  He supposed they really weren't so different after all.  The mage hesitantly raised his hand toward the raven with a questioning look at Dirthamen. 

“Go ahead, he will not bite.  Will you Deceit?”

The raven regarded him with a calculating beady eyed stare.  “I will bite.”  He finally uttered.

Anders smirked and rubbed beneath the bird’s chin as he had seen Dirthamen do.  “So is it a truce Feather Duster?”

“…never.”  He murmured as he leaned into the mage’s attention, his black eyes hooded in pleasure.

Anders turned toward the cowering bird perched on Dirthamen’s other shoulder.  “Fear?”  The raven squawked and attempted to burrow further into her Master’s hair.  “Fear, I’m sorry I burnt you.”  He reached out to gently touch the quaking bird’s damaged tail where nubs of black feathers had finally begun to peak through red angry flesh, “I was frightened of you too, but that is no excuse.  I didn’t mean to hurt you… and… if you let me…”  The mage trailed off as he closed his eyes and focused.

Dirthamen’s eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise as healing green light gathered in the mage’s hand to wash over Fear’s wound.  The red burn faded to a more healthy greyish pink as the fledgling feathers sprouted and filled out her hind quarters at a rapid pace.

Anders blinked his eyes open and stared at his hand in astonishment as the light began to fade, Fear fanning out and ruffling her tail feathers while fussing at them with her beak, as though she thought they might disappear again at any moment.  The healer smirked fondly as he realized that was likely exactly what she thought.  She still shivered slightly when he made to stroke under her chin as he had done to her cohort, though that was hardly surprising given her nature.  Fear otherwise accepted the touch and even nuzzled her beak against his hand once affectionately before hopping closer to her Master’s neck and tucking her face behind his head.  Dirthamen smiled at him then with such warmth and pride in his student that Anders was at a loss as to how to respond.  The mage opened his mouth to try none the less-

“Come with me Anders.  There is someone I would like you to meet.”

Anders cursed himself for jumping yet again at Falon’Din’s sudden appearance, having completely forgotten he had witnessed the entire episode, focused as he was on his feathered patient.  “What did I say about getting you a bloody bell?!”  The mage snapped, his face heating in embarrassment even as he winced at his harsh tone.  _Way to make good with him Anders, bite his head off for talking to you!_   He mentally scolded himself.

To his immense shock and relief, Falon’Din responded with a faint smirk rather than the frown Anders had become familiar with.  “It is still on order I’m afraid.  June is rather busy.”  Dirthamen laughed and Anders got the distinct feeling he had missed something.  Falon’Din’s eyebrows furrowed at the Shemlen’s lost expression.  “I am sorry, I should explain.  June is the God of crafts and forging… so he- I-“ his ears heated as he looked down to absently worry at the edge of his tunic.

“Oh,” Anders laughed nervously, torn between the twin hysterical desires to run screaming from the room at how awkward he was being or gathering the adorably fussing elven God into his arms and kissing him until their stilted words no longer mattered.  “I see.”  He finished lamely, lacking the necessary cowardice or courage for either option.

Falon’Din frowned again, and Anders felt he had failed some sort of test.  “Follow me.”  He said abruptly before pivoting on his heal and setting off at a brisk pace.

 

* * *

 

 The Shemlen caught up in three longs strides as they walked the halls of Falon’Din’s estate in awkward silence.  Fenris clenched his gauntleted fists and cursed his introverted nature.  Why was it so easy for seemingly everyone else to bring a smile to Anders’ lips, or make his laughter ring out like music, when all he managed to consistently inspire in the man was confusion and uncomfortable silence at best?!  It was as though the quiet moment of peace they had shared in the man’s quarters had never happened, the elf at a complete loss as to how to express himself without snapping or making a complete mess of things.  

Why was it so difficult to tell Anders how much he admired his strength and perseverance as he determinedly rose to his feet each time Leto had knocked him down?  Why could he not say how impressed he was with the mage’s progress, and how in awe he was of his compassion and skill as a healer?  Why could he not find the words to tell him that the golden seed of affection that had been planted in Fenris’ heart since the first moment he saw him had only grown and flourished since his arrival, despite the storm clouds they had weathered early on in their acquaintance?

“You- you fought well today.”  He muttered, half hoping Anders had not heard him.  It wasn’t the stirring declaration that longed to burst forth from his soul and be sung out to the Beyond and back, but Fenris supposed one had to start somewhere.

The elf’s clumsy effort was rewarded with a soft self-deprecating chuckle.  “So you think I should use my patented ‘Run around with my trouser leg on fire’ gambit on my next opponent too?”

“They will no doubt rue the day they crossed you.”  Fenris replied dryly with a hesitant smirk, which soon blossomed into a full blown grin at the mage’s laughter.  Bolstered by his success, the elf continued.  “Though my praise was sincerely meant.  You would do well not to listen to Deceit’s taunting.  You performed admirably given your respective skill level against someone of my brother’s caliber.”

Anders swallowed thickly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.  “Really?  I felt rather a fool to be honest… but… I- thank you.”  He finished awkwardly, clearly unused to accepting praise.

“Anders, how many winters have you seen?  20?”  Fenris asked, his eyebrow quirked as he regarded him with a sideways glance.

Anders threw back his head and laughed deeply.  “20 winters?!  More like nearly 40!  I’m coming up on 37 winters now.”

“Oh, forgive me.”  The elf furrowed his brows, irritated with himself at having misstepped once more in conversation when things had finally started going well.  “Shemlen often seem so young to my people.  I- I did not mean to offend.” 

“Oh trust me I’m not complaining!”  The mage chuckled softly with a sly grin.  “Ah, to be 20 winters again!  But why do you ask?”

“You have only had 37 winters to experience life, let alone train your magic with no context and no mentor.  My brother has had millennia.  It is impressive you are able to stand against him at all, even in a friendly sparring match.”  He turned his head to meet the mage’s golden gaze.  “You have talent Anders, do not doubt yourself.”

Anders’ blush deepened as he smiled sheepishly.  “Thank you Falon’Din.”  He breathed, his eyes shining brighter than the sun.

Fenris realized with a start that their pace through the halls had gradually been slowing as they spoke until they stood facing one another, the mage’s eyes hooded, the heat from his body radiating through the elven God’s cold metal armor to permeate his heart and warm his soul.  The tips of his ears flushed as he remembered himself and stepped away with a sharp nod to resume his quick pace toward their destination, his heart pounding in his chest.

Anders followed him, undeterred by the elf’s endearingly shy reaction to their proximity.  “That means a lot you know, coming from you.  The way you moved with that sword, it was…”  _Magnificent, stunning, breathtaking, more beautiful than I have words to describe,_  “…impressive.”  He finished, sighing softly in defeat at the safe, unsatisfying and utterly insufficient word he had settled on.

Falon’Din scoffed at his praise, though the flush on his ears darkened and spread to dust his cheeks, so perhaps all was not lost.  “You are being kind.  It was only a simple exercise.”

“I’m being honest!”  The mage insisted.  “If I’d tried that ‘simple exercise’ I’d have fallen flat on my face, or impaled myself!  But it was- you were- amazing.”  Anders felt he still hadn’t quite hit the mark, but he was getting closer.

A short exhalation of air that  _almost_  sounded like a laugh escaped the elf’s slightly upturned lips, and Anders’ heart soared.  “I- that is- thank you.” 

The mage opened his mouth to reply, just as Falon’Din swung open a massive door to proclaim they had arrived at their destination.  It was a rather small room for such a large door, but given the sheer size of the only object standing tall and proud in the center of the space, Anders imagined this room had been designed around the singular purpose of containing it.  The object in question was a large ornate mirror, or rather the frame of one, surrounding a pane of swirling light and color.

Anders watched in awe as Falon’Din reached out, the mirror’s surface rippling at his touch.  “Sylaise.”  The elf spoke in a clear and deliberate tone.  A few moments ticked by before a view of the cozy looking interior of someone’s home flickered into focus.

“Falon’Din?  Is that you?  Oh Creators, has someone died?!  I hope it’s not one of the new chicks!”  A petite elven woman with short dark hair exclaimed, her large green eyes wide with surprise and her nose dusted with flour.

“No Sylaise, your chicks are safe from the icy reach of death this day.”  Falon’Din intoned dryly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.  Anders smothered a laugh.

“Thank goodness!  They’re just so cute with their little beaks and downy feathers.  A bit like baby griffins… only with a regular body and not a lion on the bottom.”  Falon’Din heaved a long suffering sigh.  “Oh but I’m rambling!  Where are my manners?!  How are you Falon’Din?”

“I am well-“

“Oh that’s good!  Though if you weren’t you’d be just in luck!  I was making a pie, and brewing some salve, only I think I must have mixed it up a bit, because the salve has a bit of cherry in it, and the pie smells of elfroot… but then I got to thinking, now you could eat the salve if you got  _very_  hungry, or rub a piece pie of on your wound if you were injured… though I suppose it might be a bit sticky…”

 _Cherry salve and healing pie?_   Anders decided then and there that he and this woman would get along just fine. 

“Sylaise!”  Falon’Din snapped, halting her seemingly endless chatter.  He took a calming breath and started again in a calmer tone.  “Sylaise, I have called on you to ask a favor.  This is Anders, an honored guest in my home.  Anders, this is Sylaise the Hearthkeeper, Goddess of the domestic arts.”

Anders’ eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as he realized he must look a mess after his lesson with Dirthamen, hardly in the sort of shape to be presented to a Goddess.  The mage made a feeble attempt at hurriedly straightening his singed clothing and patting down his flyaway hair as he opened his mouth to greet her-

“Creators, is that a Shemlen?!  What happened to the poor dear?!  He’s so scruffy!  Have you boys not been caring for him properly?  Does he have enough room to run around and play in your manor?  Oh...” her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she clasped her hands in front of her breast, “Is he a  _stray_?  Oh the poor thing!”

Anders huffed indignantly.  “I’m standing  _right here_  you know!  No I’m not a stray, or a pet at all for that matter!  I’m a  _person_ , not a bloody kitten!”

“Oh, he talks?!”  She gasped, her petite hands covering her mouth.

“You must forgive her, she does not have many dealings with your kind.”  Falon’Din murmured, his warm breath caressing Anders’ ear.  Suddenly Anders couldn’t recall why he’d been upset in the first place as he reveled in the sensation of the elf’s deep and sensuous voice sending shivers down his spine.  The mage hardly noticed as Falon’Din continued, “Yes Sylaise, he talks.  He is also a mage, talented but untrained, and he has shown particular promise in the field of Spirit healing.  I was hoping you would consent to share your wisdom with him.”

Falon’Din’s request recaptured Anders’ attention.  ‘Wisdom’ was the last thing he would have expected Falon’Din to ask of this strange scatterbrained woman, but Anders had seen enough of the world of the elven Gods to realize that things were rarely as they seemed.  He held his breath as Sylaise bit her lip and answered.

“Oh Falon’Din, I don’t know.  I taught those northern Shemlen long ago, and they twisted the gifts I gave them to perform terrible rituals to control demons and the spirits of the dead!”  She turned to regard Anders with a sweet and genuine smile.  “Not that you don’t seem like a nice person, because I’m sure you are!”

“Anders is a Shemlen unlike any other.”  Falon’Din spoke confidently, as though there weren’t a doubt in his mind at the truth of his words.

“Falon’Din…”  Anders breathed, the world around him falling away as the elven God turned toward him and he lost himself in those fathomless emerald orbs. 

“Well in that case, I suppose it will be alright!”  Sylaise chirped, utterly oblivious to the charged atmosphere building between the two men.  “You’re always so prickly, so if you like him then he must be very special!”

“I believe he is.”  Falon’Din said in a husky whisper meant for Anders’ ears alone.  Anders gasped softly at the sincerity he found shining in Falon’Din’s eyes, his heart fluttering as they leaned subtly toward one another as though drawn by an invisible force, their pulses quickening as one as their eyelids grew heavy-

CRASH!

Both men hastily jumped apart with matching bewildered expressions at the startling clatter that sounded from the Goddess’s side of the portal.  They turned slowly to face the mirror that they had somehow managed to forget in their growing enchantment with one another, their faces flushed.   

“Sylaise,” Falon’Din coughed to clear the lingering husky tone, “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes!  I’m just getting my things!”  She shouted from somewhere further within her home.   Anders winced as a clamor of falling pots and pans rang out.  The two men stood awkwardly, sneaking glances and shifting their feet as muttered ‘Oh where did I put it?’s and ‘Creators what a mess!’s floated through the cacophony of bangs and crashes.  Various objects rolled across the swatch of floor they could see… glass shattered somewhere in the distance… a harassed looking chicken sailed past… Falon’Din turned to Anders and wryly quirked an eyebrow… the mage grinned back, mirth dancing in his eyes…

“There we are then!  Here I come!”  The petite elven Goddess pronounced as she reappeared with a large hastily put together knapsack slung across her shoulder.  Anders gaped in astonishment as a pale bare foot slipped through the mirror’s surface, followed by a thin leg and finally a spritely elven Goddess bouncing on the balls of her feet and smiling brightly.  “Hello Falon’Din, it’s been too long Lethallin!”  She chirped, pulling the stammering Falon’Din into a hug, the startled elven God returning the gesture awkwardly with a stilted pat on the back. 

“I- yes-“

Sylaise whirled around to look up at Anders with wide curious eyes.  “Oooo is this your Shemlen?  My he’s _tall_ isn’t he?”   

The residual heat lingering on Falon’Din’s ears returned with a vengeance as he remembered just how tall the handsome mage was as he had looked up into his stunning golden eyes, Anders’ warm breath stirring his hair and caressing his lips-  “I shall leave you to it.”  Falon’Din muttered before beating a hasty retreat.

Anders’ eyes widened as he found himself left alone with the tiny elven Goddess.  “Ah, hello!  I’m Anders… which he already told you.”  The mage rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Look, I feel like I got off on the wrong foot.  I didn’t mean to snap earlier.  So… perhaps we could start over?”

“Ooooo aren’t you precious?!”  She cooed, her eyes shining.  Though as she glanced down to the hand the Shemlen extended, she bit her lip.  “Oh no!  I didn’t bring any treats!”

Anders furrowed his eyebrows.  “Treats?  No, I-“

“Oh, here you go!”  The elf pronounced brightly after rifling through her knapsack and plopping a jar of homemade elfroot salve in his outstretched hand, chunks of dark red cherry and bits of stem pressed against the glass.  “And I’ve brought some pie for your wounds!”

Sylaise laid a gentle cool hand on the mage’s back and ushered him through Falon’Din’s dark manor with the familiarity of one who had been there before, chattering happily all the while.  In the end the healing pie had not been a great success, as the bits of lemon zest in the filling did more harm to Anders’ scrapes and burns than the elfroot did to help them.  Though to her credit, the salve didn’t taste half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses on Sylaise's true name, and the last two don't count ;)


	8. Chapter Eight

Anders smiled as glowing wisps danced and weaved between his fingers, the gentle Spirits answering his call more readily each day with Sylaise’s patient guidance.  She had finally returned home after four days of intensive training in the sacred art of Spirit healing, and Anders was saddened to see her go.  Though he supposed her chicks needed her as well, and she _had_ promised to name one after him.

Even if he felt he could have talked to the Goddess forever on the subtle nature of the benevolent Spirits that roamed the Beyond, the brief time he had spent with her and the insights he had gained had been invaluable.  He now understood that it had not been his prayers, begging, or pleading that had implored the Spirits to bolster and channel his power to heal, but rather his wholehearted desire to ease another’s suffering that had moved them to action.  She had taught him that the whispers of his blood were not to be heeded, for to use that power would drive away the kind Spirits forever, drawing demons to his aid instead.  

His daily lessons with Dirthamen now served the dual purpose of honing his skill to defend himself if threatened, as well as giving him ample opportunity to practice the gentler side of his craft on himself when Dirthamen inevitably defeated him.  Though he was undoubtedly little more experienced than a child when compared to his elven tutors, Anders felt a growing strength, a confidence in himself and his abilities that he had never known before.  His people often feared what they didn’t understand, and even he himself hadn’t understood his own power, so he had spent the better part of his life hiding and denying his nature.  Anders ran from his father’s curses proclaiming him a demon in the guise of his former son, ran from the villagers’ whispers and suspicious glares as he passed from town to town, ran from the frightening unrestrained feeling as nature’s elements sprouted from his fingertips without his control. 

Anders was done running.  For the first time he felt like he knew what he was meant to be, what he was _proud_ to be, a Mage.  Even if Dirthamen would no doubt handily defeat him once again tomorrow and the day after and beyond, Anders was no longer afraid of mastering and using his power, finally possessing an understanding that he hadn’t realized he’d always longed for.

This past fortnight had taught Anders much about longing as well.  Falon’Din still rarely spoke to him, but lately Anders felt the weight of his piercing emerald gaze upon him and often turned to find him watching, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing and something _else_ that he couldn’t quite place.  Anders felt he probably should have found it unnerving to be watched so closely by Death himself, rather than the itching desire he had to preen under his calculating gaze, but there it was. 

Falon’Din was not the only one guilty of spying.  Anders had more than once slinked around the corner to peek into the sparring arena when the elven God was training with his sword.  Lacking the brazen confidence to stand with arms folded and stare as Falon’Din often did, the mage spent much of his free time nowadays hunkered down behind furniture to watch the God stalk through the manor, or standing with his back pressed against the wall listening to Falon’Din’s velvet voice issuing tasks or lightly conversing with his acolytes.  Dirthamen had caught him at it once and had quirked a questioning brow.  Heat rose to the mage’s cheeks and his eyes widened in panic, but the dark haired elf had merely smirked and held a finger to his lips.  Anders had never been more grateful to be in the good graces of the God of Secrets.

Shortly after that incident, Feather Duster had spied the mage once again indulging in his growing obsession.  The raven had fluttered up to land heavily upon his shoulder and whispered ‘The Shemlen pet _hates_ Lord Falon’Din’, and Anders was forced to admit that he might be in some trouble.  It was one thing to admit he was attracted to the devastatingly handsome elf, as anyone with eyes would likely agree with him.  Though if it were merely a fleeting attraction, why did he find himself hiding around corners and blushing like a maiden when Falon’Din was near, his heart fluttering in his chest as though he were a teenager again?  A _lovesick_ teenager. 

Even _if_ he were falling for the dour Deity with his awkward jokes, sardonic smirks, and fathomless eyes, which Anders had to admit seemed to be the case, there was still a tension between them that was anything but pleasant.  The mage had not forgotten the first several times they had spoken, or rather, shouted at one another, and he sincerely doubted Falon’Din had either.  They seemed to have put it behind them if the more civil interactions they had shared were any indication, but the hurtful and unfair things the mage had said still haunted him.  As time went on Anders longed to speak with him alone to clear the air, and possibly make room for whatever else might blossom in its place.  If nothing else Anders longed to apologize, if only to try and take away a fraction of the sadness that seemed to weigh heavily upon the elven God.  Anders smirked at the fleeting thought that he wouldn’t mind if Falon’Din indulged in his habit of popping up behind him _now_ , in this quiet and peaceful place where they were unlikely to be interrupted by smirking brothers or nosy ravens…

Anders’ eyes widened as the Spirit wisps he’d summoned abandoned the playground of his outstretched hand and began to circle and nudge at his chest.  He patted himself down in search of what seemed to be so fascinating about the innocuous spot of tunic above his heart, and gasped to feel a hard object underneath.  _Falon’Din’s talisman_.  He remembered as he drew the pendent out to study it.  The mage had worn it as a symbol of his friendship with Orana, after the sweet elf had assured him that her Master had given her another of her own of course.  Anders hadn’t given it much more thought than that, but as he watched the soft light from the gently floating wisps reflecting in the stern looking owl’s inlaid emerald eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder… 

“Falon’Din… I-“  The mage’s words faltered as he clutched the talisman tightly.  _What exactly does one say to summon the elven Lord of the Dead to have a chat?_   “I’m not sure how to do this.  I’ve never really _invoked_ anyone before… it’s just… Falon’Din… I want to see you, talk with you… please.  Spirits this is silly, speaking to a silver trinket like a bloody fool-“

The words died in his throat and the gathered wisps dispersed in the blaze of shining blue that heralded Falon’Din’s arrival.  “Anders.”  He greeted solemnly, his emerald eyes scanning the area, brows furrowed in concern.  “Do you need something?”

“You.”  Anders blurted gracelessly, just barely able to refrain from slapping a hand over his face in mortification at the blush that rapidly colored the elven God’s ears.

“I… beg your pardon?”  Falon’Din stammered, his eyes wide.

“I- that wasn’t- Spirits that came out wrong!  What I meant is, I wanted to _see_ you… to talk.” 

“I see.”  The elf replied with a slight frown, something almost like disappointment flickering through his gaze for the briefest of moments.  He raised his eyebrows expectantly and waved a hand as if to say ‘Well, go on then.’

 _Not going to make this easy are you?_   Anders huffed and pressed on.  “I’ve been thinking, about… about a lot of things recently, and I realized I never really apologized for the things I said when we first met.”

“It is of no consequence, the past cannot be undone.”  Falon’Din replied automatically, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“No, it can’t, but I can try to make the future better… just as you have made mine.”  Falon’Din looked up at that in stunned confusion, and Anders hurriedly pressed on, “I was rude and completely unfair to you, making assumptions about you based on what you are instead of who you are.  I behaved no better than those among my people that shunned me for my magic without even bothering to learn my name.  I was awful to you, when you have shown me such kindness, found me mentors in Sylaise and your brother, and taken a chance on a foolish Shemlen when you didn’t have to.  I can never thank you enough Falon’Din… nor tell you how sorry I am for how I behaved.”

Falon’Din looked away once more to fiddle with his tunic hem in what Anders was beginning to suspect was an unconscious gesture when the elf was feeling shy or nervous.  As he watched the elf’s graceful fine boned hands twist and tug at the fabric, the lines of lyrium running all the way to the tips of his fingers, Anders belatedly realized that this was the first time he had seen Falon’Din without his armor.  Wearing only a pair of black trousers and a soft black velvet sleeveless tunic with silver accents along the edges, the elf looked smaller, but not in any way diminished.  It served to make the elven God more real somehow, relatable, _touchable_ …

“You are not the only one guilty of passing judgement based upon the crimes of others.”  Falon’Din’s voice finally rumbled softly from his chest, his eyes darting up to meet Anders’ once more, the shutters to his soul drawn open a crack, allowing a glimpse of the tender and fragile emotions swirling beneath the polished emerald façade.  “I was wrong to blame you for the actions of the Shemlen of the north.  You are nothing like them.  I am sorry to have ever doubted you.  It was unworthy of me.”

“Then let’s agree that we were both prats and leave the past where it belongs.  I’ve found many friends here and… I’d like it if I could count you among them.”  Anders said with a warm smile as he held out his hand.

“I- I should like that Anders.“  Falon’Din breathed.  A moment ticked by and the elf furrowed his eyebrows as he cocked his head at the mage’s still outstretched hand, “Do you… want something?”

Anders dropped his hand and laughed brightly.  “I’m clearly going to have to give you elves a course on handshakes!  It’s something my people do when we introduce ourselves, make a pact... or make amends.  It’s, well, here-“  He held out his right hand once more and gestured with his left for Falon’Din to do the same.  The elf rose his hand with a wary quirk of an eyebrow.  Anders grasped his hand in a firm but pleasant grip and moved their joined hands up and down with exaggerated slowness to illustrate.  Falon’Din quickly caught on and tightened his lax grip to match the mage’s and shook twice firmly, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

Anders nearly felt his heart break as Falon’Din’s hand slipped away from his.  The mage chuckled softly as he absently rubbed his palm, chasing the feeling of warmth as it tingled and began to fade.

“What?  Was my technique incorrect?”  Falon’Din huffed with a slight frown, his ears a perpetual red.

Anders smiled, “No, not at all.  It’s just… I’d always imagined that you’d be cold and hard to touch, like a statue carved of marble.”  His smile softened and color rose to his cheeks as he boldly reached to caress Falon’Din’s hand where it lay loosely at his side, “I suppose I can add it to the list of things that I was wrong about when it comes to you.”

Falon’Din surprised him by tentatively capturing the mage’s hand in his own before it had a chance to fall away.  “I believe your list of foolish misconceptions may only be rivaled in length by my own.”

The mage laughed softly and gently squeezed the hand he held before reluctantly freeing it, allowing it to quickly fly back to the elf’s tunic hem.  Anders couldn’t help but find it endearing, that this solemn, polite, cultured and ultimately rather shy man before him was the true face of the ‘Dread Lord Falon’Din.’ 

“Would you… that is- if you are not otherwise engaged… would you like a tour of the gardens?”  Falon’Din murmured softly, his voice tinged with hope.

“I’d like that.”  Anders answered with a bright smile.

They walked along the ambling path at a leisurely pace, quiet conversation peppering the companionable silence that pervaded the endless night that blanketed them.  Falon’Din showed Anders the garden’s hidden treasures, pointing out delicate night blooming flowers that dared to bring beauty into a place Anders had initially thought to be dreary and devoid of life.  Soft butter colored evening primrose that brought a sweet fragrance to the air as they passed, tiny white night blooming jasmine blossoms clustered on woody stalks, and large white moon flowers that opened wide to mirror the shining orbs overhead, nearly three quarters full now, that had begun to peek through the gaps steadily appearing in the ever present storm clouds in the past few days.  Even deadly nightshade, which Falon’Din admitted may be considered tacky given his occupation, but the small purple flowers held a beauty that couldn’t be denied.

Anders for his part told Falon’Din of the plants he was familiar with that grew in the sun of the mortal realm.  His knowledge consisted mainly of medicinal plants rather than flowers, but the elven God seemed genuinely interested none the less, a sad longing swimming through his eyes as Anders waxed poetic about the warmth of the sun or the beauty of spring.  They soon came upon a dead end in the path in the form of a small circular grove holding a pair of benches secluded by tall walls of rose bushes on all sides.  The dark blossoms stayed forever closed in the cold eternal night, but their scent carried on the air and filled the private space.  The mage sat to the side of one of the benches and held his breath to see if Falon’Din would choose the empty bench, or the seat beside him.  After a long moment of consideration, Falon’Din lowered himself carefully beside the mage.  Anders fiddled with Falon’Din’s talisman once more as he tried to calm the wild fluttering of his heart. 

“I did not realize you wore my talisman.”  Falon’Din said softly.

 “It was a gift from Orana.  Well, more like I unintentionally robbed her of it, but we’ve straightened it out now.”  Falon’Din gave him a curious sideways glance.  “It turns out handshakes are a tricky business.”

Falon’Din huffed out a laugh, the rare and beautiful sound making the mage’s heart flutter.  “I had wondered why she had asked for a new one.”

“You know, she showed me… the day she got this.”  Anders murmured.

“I remember it.”

“You do?”  The mage’s eyebrows rose, “But- you must have guided countless souls into the Beyond…”

“I remember _every_ one.”  Falon’Din whispered with a far away look, and Anders imagined he could see the weight of every soul upon him now, the elf suddenly seeming every bit the ancient being it was all too easy to forget he was.

“This talisman,” he began softly, a question that had been on his mind for some time forming on his tongue, “Orana used it to call you and lead her away.  Did her Master just… let her go?  The way she acts at times, flinching as though she thinks she’ll be struck… he didn’t seem like the friendliest sort.”

Falon’Din snorted.  “Hardly.  Her former Master, Lord Elgar'nan, does not take kindly to my stealing of the other God’s slaves.”

The mage quirked an eyebrow.  “You’ve done it more than once?”

“It is not intentional!”  Falon’Din snapped in a way that seemed ingrained, his familiar frown returning with a vengeance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“No,” the elf took a calming breath, his tense frame relaxing minutely, “It is I who should apologize.  Let me explain my meaning.”  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so normal, so _vulnerable_ coming from the world weary God, “My father is a… difficult man.  He has done incredible things, wrestled with the Sun himself and won, I should not speak ill of him, but we have a... difference of opinion on how to treat our acolytes.  Orana was not the first to choose an apple and an endless night over the burning whip.”

“Your father?”

“Indeed.  L-Dirthamen and I are his eldest sons, but I did not turn out… as expected.”  Falon’Din absently traced a flowing line of lyrium along his wrist with a deep frown.  “He and I have never quite seen eye to eye, and my taking of Orana was the last straw.  He challenged me to single combat to win her freedom.  I agreed, on the condition that it be a contest of blades alone, to which he agreed, and I defeated him.  That should have been the end of it, and Mother… she tried, but Lord Elgar'nan is prideful and delights in vengeance.  He gathered his armies and declared war.”  A grim smirk twitched upon his lips.  “Mother was able to sooth his anger before all was lost by convincing him to let us each appoint a champion to fight in our stead.  Mine lost.”

Anders shifted to the edge of his seat.  “What happened then?!”

“Not much.  We Evanuris bicker and bluster, but little ever truly changes.  They cast me out of Arlathan, though I never really fit in there to begin with.  My seat amongst the Gods was upheaved and now resides in the throne room here in Setheneran.  To this day they say I can return if I vow to never take another of their abused slaves into my realm and out of their reach, but I shall never do so.  For this they call me vain and greedy for followers, a reputation Fen’Harel is only too happy to perpetuate.”  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists tight in his lap.  “It does not matter.  I will _always_ come for those who call.”  Falon’Din’s whispered words sounded like a mantra he had needed to tell himself far too many times.

“Falon’Din…”  Anders whispered, his heart in turmoil, half of him wanting to march straight to the gates of Arlathan and give those bastards a piece of his mind, the other wanting nothing more than to pull the elf into his arms and hold him forever.  As it was he lacked the power for the first option, and the courage for the second, which left him sitting there dumbly, grasping for the right thing to say.  What _could_ he say in the face of the terrible injustice Falon’Din had suffered?  “You know,” the mage began softly, still not sure of his words just yet, but resolving to _try_.  Falon’Din deserved that much, and more.  “When I first came here, I saw this garden from my window, saw these very rose bushes.”  He carefully avoided the wicked thorns to grasp a stem and pluck a tightly closed blossom from the bushes around him.  “I was so angry then, all I could think was ‘Of course he has black roses in this dark and dreary place’.”

Falon’Din bowed his head and swallowed thickly, his fists clenching so tight his knuckles turned white.  “It is all too easy to see only darkness and despair here.  You are not the first, nor will you be the last.” 

Anders slowly brought the rose up and inhaled.  “But now that I take the time to get a closer look, I see that they are actually a deep crimson, with velvet soft petals and the sweetest scent.  I was guilty of misjudging many things here… but I think…” he gently laid a hand atop Falon’Din’s tightly closed fist and coaxed it open, then carefully placed the rose in his palm, “I’m beginning to see things as they truly are, and what I see… is _beautiful_.”

Silence hung heavy between them as Falon’Din’s fingers closed around the rose’s thorny stem, his fist clenching until it trembled under the mage’s hand, and for a moment Anders feared he had overstepped his bounds.  He gave the elf’s hand a gentle squeeze and made to pull away and give him some space, when Falon’Din’s free hand shot out to grasp his wrist, then shifted to lay atop the mage’s.  “Anders…I-“ Falon’Din whispered from behind the curtain of white hair hiding his face, his voice cracking with emotion, “I- I can’t.”  He pulled his hands away and shot to his feet, crossing to the opposite end of the rose grotto, his back turned away from the stunned mage.  “I just can’t.”  Falon’Din murmured, almost to himself.

Anders stood to follow, but held back as he saw the elf’s frame tense.  He must have read the signs wrong, his subtle advances and fledgling displays of affection must have been unwelcome.  The mage bit his lip as a drop of crimson blood ran sluggishly down to drip off the delicate petals of the rose the elf held.  “Falon’Din… I’m sorry if I-“

“I- I must go.  I have duties to attend.”  Falon’Din breathed in a shaking voice.

“Of-“ Anders swallowed down the tempest of emotion raging in his chest, “Of course.”

Falon’Din’s markings glowed and Anders felt heartsick at the sight, certain that it would be the last time he saw the achingly beautiful exiled God before he flashed away from him forever… when suddenly, the elf turned his head to reveal a glimpse of an emerald eye shimmering with a heartbreaking mixture of gratitude and despair.  “Anders… thank you.”  He whispered softly, his markings flaring bright, and Falon’Din was gone.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of potential past Anders/Karl, but it's fairly vague and could technically be interpreted as a close friendship if that tickles your fancy. Either way, it hardly seemed significant enough to tag.

Fenris paced the training arena restlessly, scoffing with irritation as he noticed his hands had made their way toward the bottom hem of his tunic once again.  _Perhaps I should have worn my gauntlets_?  He shook his head and clenched his fists at his sides.  His intent was to open up to the other man, not shield himself further.  After their talk in the garden not but a few days past, Fenris’ thoughts had been occupied with little else but the mage’s kind words that had touched the very heart of him, his laughter bright and sweet upon the fragrant air, his smiles that the elf had once jealously coveted, now shared with him to treasure and protect, the feeling of Anders’ hand in his making his blood burn and his soul _sing_ …

Damn it all if his hands hadn’t made their way back to his bloody tunic! 

The elven God was forced to admit he was nervous, extremely so.  He had witnessed countless horrors and cruelties in his ageless existence, faced down the Eldest of the Sun in single combat and become the swift and silent wings of Death itself… but this… these tender fragile feelings sprouting in his chest were something he was altogether unprepared for.  Fenris had begun to see himself as a mirror for the dark realm he inhabited, cold and barren of all light and life.  Though just like the delicate hidden blossoms he had shared with Anders as they walked side by side, the fresh green shoot of love that had managed to take root within his heart had only flourished in the sunshine of the mage’s smile.

It was doomed to fail.  Fenris knew all too well that his heart’s most desperate wish could never be.  The mage’s time in his cursed realm grew shorter by the day, the moons having already passed the three quarters full mark as they glided across the sky all too quickly.  The _sky_ … Creators when was the last time the clouds had parted?  Fenris remembered it well… it had been the day Leto had finally found him once again after being separated that first and only time as they traveled the shifting paths.  Now for the first time in centuries the stars twinkled in jagged strips of velvet black sky between slowly retreating reams of darkened clouds.  Fenris had no allusions as to what was causing the blessedly clearing skies, and he feared the storm that would befall them once Anders’ warm smile and shining bright soul was no longer there to chase away the ever-gathering darkness inside him.

Fenris had tried to keep his distance, tried to keep the creeping vines of affection in check by denying himself the mage’s company, but it had not worked.  Rather than withering and diminishing, his tender feelings had only grown in strength, along with his anxiety as the days ticked by.  Fenris was forced to admit his feelings would not change, fade, or be stubbornly denied by the mage’s absence, so he had resolved not to waste the precious little time they had left. 

And so he paced an endless path along the training arena floor, eagerly and anxiously awaiting the ever present subject of his thoughts.

That was how Anders found him when he entered the arena, oaken staff in hand.  “Falon’Din!  I- I didn’t expect you!  I was supposed to meet Dirthamen here… but I can come back later, if you’re using the arena…”

“No!  I-“  Falon’Din cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly and snapped his hands away from the edge of his tunic, “I had thought to be your sparring partner today… if you are amenable?”

Anders’ eyebrows furrowed, but the blush that rose to his cheeks seemed to imply that the mage did not find the surprise to be an entirely unpleasant one.  “Alright.”  He replied cautiously.

Fenris nodded and stalked toward the wall to consider his choice in weapons.  His gaze swept over gleaming swords and massive battle axes, before finally settling on an unassuming wooden staff on equal footing with the mage’s weapon.  The elven God gripped the staff and turned to take up a defensive stance.  “Come then.”

Anders did not need to be told twice, the arena sparking with blasts of fire and lightning.

The mage grimaced as he dodged a swipe of the elf’s staff and wondered at Falon’Din’s recent behavior, not fully able to decide if he were overjoyed to have him speaking to him again, or angry with him for resolutely avoiding him after their shared moment amidst the shelter of the rose bushes.  He knew he had no right to feel as he did, he certainly held no claim over the elven Deity, but Anders couldn’t help but feel… jilted.  He had thought they had turned a corner in their relationship, such as it was.  Anders had held his hand, listened to secrets he imagined only Dirthamen had ever been told, and at the end of it all he had somehow managed to chase him away.  In truth he was more frustrated than angry.  Frustrated at his still unknown misstep, at his lost chance with the elusive and reserved elf, at his lack of courage for not simply marching up and kissing him until the silent pain he wore like armor fell away to let him claim a spot in his kind and beautiful heart, just as Falon’Din had claimed a piece of his-

Anders cursed as his scattered focus found him lying on his back on the cold hard floor once again, not from a fireball or jolt of lightning, but by being bloody _tripped_ by the elf’s wooden staff.  He blinked his eyes open and was met with Falon’Din’s emerald gaze, a small smirk playing at his lips, his hand held out toward him.  Anders grinned and took it.

After that he resolved to stop fussing and wondering and pondering and bloody _thinking_ , and just enjoy the dance.  For that was what this undoubtedly was, both men shifting fluidly around one another in flashes of light and color.  Even as he sharpened his focus to parry the elf’s attacks, which so far had been reserved to physical blows from his limbs and staff alone, Anders couldn’t help but note the differences in his two elven sparring partners.

Where Dirthamen had always made an effort to seem as though he made _no_ effort, the elf standing with his feet planted in a relaxed stance as he easily fired off magical attacks and shielded himself with casual waves of his hand, Falon’Din was an entirely different creature.  If his brother had been still water, Falon’Din was a nimble rushing stream or powerful raging sea, his feet in constant motion as he twirled and twisted around him, his staff following fluidly as he brought it down with deadly accuracy.  It was nearly impossible to aim projectile spells at the elf as he flitted circles around the mage, making Anders feel slow and clumsy and forcing him to alter his tactics.  _Stop thinking about where he is and attack where you think he’ll be next._

Anders let out a victorious bark of laughter as the elven God nearly lost his footing on a sheet of ice the mage had laid down by sweeping his staff surreptitiously along the ground while firing a diminished fireball using his hand alone as a distraction.  Falon’Din met his eyes with something like approval, and Anders’ heart skipped a beat.  After that the mage barely had a moment to breathe.  The elf’s blows came quickly, his markings flashing as he flickered in and out of Anders’ vision.  The wind was knocked out of him as Falon’Din elbowed him in the gut and seamlessly swept his staff behind the mage to catch his knees and send him to the ground. 

Anders began to notice a pattern as the elf seemed to target his vulnerabilities and blind spots until the mage became aware and eliminated them, then shifted instantly to find new chinks in his armor.  While the blows were certainly not pleasant, the mage got the distinct impression from the carefully controlled force he used that Falon’Din was very deliberately pointing out his weaknesses in order to strengthen them, rather than exploit them. 

Sweat rolled down the mage’s temples as he blocked and dodged the flurry of blows the elven God aimed at him.  The sound of wood cracking together echoing around the arena as Anders twirled his staff to match Falon’Din’s movements with increasing speed and skill, the motions becoming almost second nature as his staff started to feel like a part of himself.  He laughed, the sound bright and free, and went on the offensive, the air sparking with lightning as he surged forward.

The elf danced out of his reach, a grin twitching to his lips as the pace intensified, taking in the vision of power and grace that Anders made.  With every step he gained more confidence, more control, and Fenris was proud to see him shining in his element.  The air sang with electricity and heat, alive with the tang of charged magic, and Anders stood haloed by an aura of power that lit his golden eyes aflame and sent shivers down Fenris’ spine.  _Creators he is beautiful._

Anders had never felt more in tune with the magic singing inside him, the power answering his call intuitively almost without conscious effort, his soul soaring with a freedom and joy he’d never known.  _How can Falon’Din keep holding his magic back?  Spirits why would he **want** to?!_   The mage fleetingly wondered as their staffs met time and again, the elf continuing to utilize only physical attacks coupled with the stunning abilities his lyrium afforded him.  Though his movements where precise and firmly controlled, Anders didn’t feel as though the elf were holding back per say.  Beads of sweat trailed down Falon’Din’s brow, curving over his cheek and chin to run parallel to the graceful lines marking his throat.  Falon’Din was taking him seriously, yet he refused to use magic, almost as if-

_Nearly all elves are blessed with the gift of magic… I did not turn out… as expected… a contest of blades alone… never really fit in there to begin with…_

Anders’ eyes widened in revelation as their staffs met and eyes locked.  “You _can’t_ use magic.”  He breathed in shock, the heartbreaking flicker of shame in the elven God’s emerald gaze confirming his words as a statement rather than a question.

Time seemed to stop as Falon’Din’s eyes shuttered closed, a frown turning his lips down as his grip on his staff intensified.  He finally took a step back, and it was clear to both men that the match was over.  The elf turned wordlessly to hang the staff upon the wall once more, reaching within himself in vain for the stirring he had been told he should feel when he laid his hands upon the enchanted staff and instead felt… nothing.  Always _nothing_.  “No, I cannot.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“Why?!”  Falon’Din whirled around to glare defiantly, “Why should you be sorry for me?!  The poor scarred elf crippled by an unnatural lack of magic?!  I have done well for myself and the souls I guide without it, have lived all my life without it!  I have no need for your magic nor your pity!”

“That’s not why I’m sorry.”  Anders doggedly continued, seeing the elf’s bluster for the façade it was, a mask intended to hide the years of shame and ostracism he had endured.  It was a mask he had worn himself many times.  “I’m sorry you were alone.  I know what that’s like.”

“I am not alone, I never have been!  My brother has never abandoned me!”

“Yes, and it speaks well of him… but even he is a mage.  They all are aren’t they?”  At the elf’s terse nod Anders pressed on, “I know what it’s like to be different from the rest of your people.  You say there are many of my people who are mages in the north… but it is not so in the south.  There they are frightened of the power mages wield, they think it’s unnatural, the work of demons.  The reason you don’t see many of us is because most children are abandoned by their parents, or worse, if they show signs of magic.  I was lucky to be a late bloomer when my magic started to manifest at twelve winters, at least I could fend for myself when I had to run.”

Falon’Din frowned, the fists at his sides slowly loosening.  “You ran away from home so young?”

“I had to.  My father, I was terrified of him even at the best of times, but after he knew what I was… I had to.”  Anders sighed heavily as painful memories flickered to life.  “I spent my life running, hiding from what I was, only staying in one place for short times, before they could start to suspect.  I traveled with elves at times, runaway slaves of the Gods, I even met a dwarf or two, but in the end I was always alone.”  Falon’Din took a hesitant step forward, followed by another as the mage continued.  “Then I met Karl, the only other person I’d met like me, a mage, though my people had no word for us but ‘monster’ or ‘demon’.  Karl and I whispered in the dark about our secret magic, giggled like children as sparks danced between our fingers, and held each other when the power within us felt too strong and frightening to control.  We were happy… for a time…”

“Anders…” the elf whispered, his hand twitching toward where the mage’s hung limply at his side.

“He died,” Anders’ voice cracked with emotion, and Falon’Din closed the final distance to take the mage’s hand in his, “Taken by a sickness that I can’t help but wonder… if I’d known what I know now… could I have…”  He trailed off, his expression tortured as he looked to his free hand.

“It was not your fault Anders.  All living things pass into the beyond in their time, but I-“ the elf gently squeezed his hand, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“It’s- I- thank you.”  Anders swallowed thickly and closed his eyes to halt the tears he felt threatening even after so many years.  Once his emotions had calmed, he reopened his eyes and met Falon’Din’s beautiful emerald gaze.  “My point is, I know what it is to feel alone, different, like I somehow wasn’t _right_ , but you’ve helped show me that isn’t true.  There is _nothing_ wrong with you Falon’Din.”

“You are kind Anders… thank you.”  The elf whispered, his free hand absently wandering up to rest upon the mage’s chest, his eyes turned downward and ears dusted a faint pink, “It is not known whether it is the lyrium I was born with that impedes any magic I may have had, or if it was simply not intended by the Creators that I be a mage.  Either way, I long ago came to terms with who I am, what I am… and what I am not.  I am sorry for snapping at you.  I just… I find myself overly concerned with your opinion of me.  I do not wish you to think less of me.”  Falon’Din breathed, his husky voice raised barely above a whisper.

Anders chuckled softly, his free hand raising to brush a lock of white hair behind a blushing pointed ear.  “I could hardly think more highly of you if I tried.  The burden you bear in order to help those that have been forgotten by all else, even when it means you will be dreaded and shunned by the very people who will dare to call your name when their time comes to wander frightened and alone, you are deserving of the highest reverence and respect… Lord Falon’Din.”

Falon’Din gasped as Anders whispered his title with a hushed sort of awe that he knew had been intended to indicate his genuine admiration, but only served to make his heart clench.  “Please… do not call me that.”  The mage’s eyebrows furrowed gently in confusion.  “You say you see me as I truly am, and I believe that is so.  I would… I would have you call me by my true name.”

“Your true name?”

“Falon’Din is what my people began calling me when I took up the mantel of leading lost souls through the shifting paths, and I wear the name with pride when I am needed by my charges.”  His emerald eyes shifted up to meet Anders’ soft amber gaze and he favored him with a faint smile, “But my mother certainly did not name me ‘Friend of the Dead.’  My name… is Fenris.  I would be honored if you would call me as such.”

Anders' smile lit up the dark, “It is I who am honored… Fenris,” he whispered, and the last of the lingering clouds overhead departed.

Fenris’ breath caught in his throat and his hand tightened on the fabric of the mage’s tunic as his true name rolled softly off Anders’ tongue.  Suddenly Fenris was all too aware of how close together they stood, how perfect the long line of the mage’s body felt pressed against his own, how warm Anders’ larger hand was in his, how his soft breath caressed his face, his lips…

Amber and emerald eyes slid shut, Fenris tilting his head up to meet Anders as he leaned forward, the mage’s hand shifting from its place cupping Fenris’ jaw to thread through white hair softer than he’d dared imagine to pull him closer and brush their lips togeth-

“Master Anders!”  Both men tensed at the intrusion, their hands guiltily flying back to their sides as though they had been burnt.  Fenris seemed to be vibrating with frustration as he touched his forehead to Anders’ briefly and closed his eyes, fighting to restrain a growl at being interrupted during such a private moment.  Anders sighed heavily turned to face whoever had addressed him, but any lingering irritation he might have felt evaporated in the face of Orana nervously wringing her apron. 

“What is it Orana?”  Anders asked with a patience that surprised even him.

“Please forgive the interruption, but I thought you might be able to help with your Spirit Healing-“

“What has happened Orana?”  Fenris stepped out from behind the mage’s tall frame, his serious tone at odds with his heated ears and cheeks.

Orana’s large green eyes widened and a blush quickly colored the tips of her ears, which rapidly spread across her entire face as her gaze flickered between the two flustered looking men and she put two and two together.  “My Lord!  I am so sorry!  I- oh my- I did not intend-“ she sputtered and bowed low, wishing the ground would swallow her up for her blunder.

“Peace Orana.”  Fenris took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to school his features into a gentler expression.  “Has someone been hurt?”

“Yes My Lord Falon’Din, but it is nothing so serious as to disturb you.  Adanna burnt her hand in the kitchens, and I thought, perhaps Master Anders could help her, but had I known-“

“It is alright Orana, you have done the right thing.  Anders will be with you shortly.”  He met the mage’s amber gaze, and was pleased to see it shining with approval.  “I would have a brief word with him first.”

Orana murmured her thanks and bowed quickly once more before fairly sprinting from the practice arena, her rapid footfalls echoing loudly in the great chasm that now seemed to stretch between them.  Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the door latched shut, the fragile atmosphere thoroughly shattered.  “I- I am sorry, I should not have spoken for you.”  He muttered with an apologetic glance up at the still faintly blushing mage.

“Oh no, it’s alright!”  Anders insisted, a small warm smile twitching to his lips, “I appreciate how much you care for your acolytes.”  He absently scratched the back of his neck and glanced toward the door.  “I should… probably go help her.”

“Yes, please.”  Fenris said in defeat.  His ever present frown slipped back into place all too easily as a moment came and went and the words he longed to say eluded him.  Anders’ gave him a brittle smirk, a hint of disappointment flickering in his golden gaze, and turned to follow Orana.  Fenris’ heart raced as he fought to say something, _anything_ , that might express his feelings properly.  “Anders!”  The mage turned with a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.  “I desire neither your pity nor your reverence, I have no need for another acolyte…” the mage’s smile faltered and Fenris’ blush returned with a vengeance as he coughed lightly and softened his tone, “However, to have you stand beside me as an equal, a _partner_ … that would not be unwelcome.”

Anders’ golden eyes lit up and shone brighter than the sun.  He grasped the talisman around his neck and brought it to his smiling lips to whisper against the cool silver.  “I will call you when I’m finished,” he brushed his lips softly against the charm, “Fenris.”

The elven God’s markings flared at the mage’s affectionate invocation.  Fenris gasped in shock as the familiar gentle tugging sensation was accompanied not by the pain his markings always caused, but a warm shiver of pleasure washing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me! Your patience will be rewarded very soon I promise <3 Thanks again for all the kind words, kudos and bookmarks!


	10. Chapter Ten

Anders smiled and closed his eyes as the wind carried the sweet scent of apples on the breeze to stir the grass he laid on and tickle his cheeks.  Of all the things that he had imagined would befall him in his lifetime, being abducted by elven Gods had admittedly been rather low on the list of plausibility, let alone falling in love with one.  The phrase ‘stranger things have happened’ came to mind, but Anders was hard pressed to come up with an experience that had been any stranger, nor more wonderful. 

The mage opened his eyes and beheld the moons shining high overhead, the orbs rising and falling each day like a pair of midnight suns, gradually growing fuller each day.  Anders fancifully imagined that the larger of the two moons mirrored his heart, waxing with affection for a dour God of Death whose expressive emerald eyes and shy smiles made Anders feel alive.  Though if that were so, the larger moon’s little sister Satina surely represented his growing anguish as his inevitable return to the mortal realm grew closer.  Anders idly wondered when he stopped thinking of the mortal realm he had been so eager to return to as ‘home’.  What did the mage have back ‘home’ but the terrible choice between denying his very nature or facing the rejection of his people?  Here in Setheneran he was supported and encouraged to be who and what he was, accepted unconditionally by people he had begun to think of as family… or in Fenris’ case, perhaps more. 

Anders marveled at how easy it was to think of Falon’Din as Fenris, the façade of the ‘Dread Lord’ effortlessly falling away to reveal a man he couldn’t help but fall for.  A man who struggled to live up to his father’s expectations, who had grown up being seen as defective or lacking by his peers, who had been painted a villain for daring to show mercy to the most defenseless.  Fenris was a man that had suffered, yet he had steadfastly remained true to his kind and selfless nature, and Anders would have loved him for that alone.  Though as it was, his dry sense of humor, endearing shyness and handsome features certainly didn’t hurt either.

Anders smirked as he noticed his hand had curled around Fenris’ talisman without even realizing he’d done it.  “Fenris.  Adanna is well and I’m making good on my promise.  Please Fenris, come find me…” he swallowed thickly and forged ahead, “…so I can court you properly.”  He whispered with a giddy smile against the silver charm, his heart hammering with anxious excitement as he waited.

Fenris didn’t make him wait long, the God appearing before him in his signature flash of electric blue.  The elf met the mage’s welcoming smile with a shy one of his own, only for it to twitch into a frown when he noted their surroundings.  “ _Anders_.”  He chided, his eyes narrowing as he looked meaningfully toward the enchanted apple orchard glowing softly at the base of the hill Anders was currently stretched out on like a contented cat.

The mage grinned guiltily.  “Did I forget to mention I’m terrible at following orders?”  He raised his hands in a calming gesture as Fenris’ dark brows furrowed in alarm.  “Don’t worry, I didn’t eat any apples.  It’s just quiet and peaceful here… and we’re unlikely to be interrupted.”  Anders said with a significantly raised eyebrow.

The elf’s ears heated even as the tension slowly bled from his frame.  “And just what do you imagine will be interrupted?”  Fenris asked, his voice dipping lower as he quirked an answering brow.

Anders laughed and held out a hand.  “Lie down with me and find out.”  He whispered with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Fenris crossed his arms and stood firm, his lips turned up in a barely there grin.  “If you intend to deflower me, I should at least expect dinner first.”

Anders’ laughter was like music as he reveled in the fact that yes, Fenris really was _flirting_ with him.  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.  In the meantime, come and watch the stars with me, deflowering of either party is entirely optional.”

“The stars?”  Fenris murmured as he looked to the heavens, the sight that met his eyes stealing his breath away.  The velvet black blanket of night was scattered with countless shining pin pricks of light stretching out into eternity, nary a cloud in sight.

“I know,” Anders said with a crooked grin, “Look at the silly Shemlen staring at the pretty shiny things in the sky.  Humor me?”  His smile softened as he held out his hand once more.

Fenris returned the smile and took his hand.  “On the contrary,” he began as he settled to lie beside the mage, “The elven people have a long documented fondness for pretty shiny things.  You should see Arlathan.”

Anders laughed softly and shifted subtly closer to the elf’s form, his heart soaring when Fenris made no move to pull his hand away.  “Do you miss it, Arlathan?”

The elf’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the question.  “Sometimes.”  He finally whispered.  “No matter my opinions on some of its denizens or politics, Arlathan’s beauty and splendor is undeniable.  I miss its shining spires soaring above the clouds, the light glinting off the crystal stairways spiraling into the heavens, the warmth of the sun… I miss my mother…”  Fenris coughed self-consciously, “I suppose that must seem silly.”

“My mother died when I was very young.  I remember little things, like the way her hair smelled, or how her voice sounded when she sang to me… there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.”  Anders confessed softly as he laced their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.

Fenris returned the gesture of comfort, both men silently sharing in each other’s grief.  The elf took a calming breath and pointed to a cluster of stars overhead.  “That is her constellation.”

The human turned to regard his companion with curiosity.  “Conste-what now?”

The elf chuckled softly, and Anders was more than willing to forgive Fenris for laughing at him if it meant he could hear the perfect sound.  Fenris’ laugh held none of the carefree brightness of his brother’s, the dark warm sound rumbling in his chest and escaping his lips in awkward bursts, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to show such a brazen display of happiness, but was determined to try.  Anders was certain he had never heard anything more beautiful.  “Constellation.  They are shapes in the stars that my people have given names and stories to.  Mythal’s constellation is a figure holding the scales, for she is the peacemaker and makes the final judgement in disputes between the Evanuris.  Do you see it?”

Anders' features screwed up in concentration as he considered the sea of twinkling stars.  “Not even a little.”  He admitted with a self-deprecating smile.

Fenris huffed in fond exasperation and shifted closer to the mage until their heads were resting side by side, their ears brushing together as white and golden hair fanned out to mingle beneath them.  With their gazes more aligned, Fenris reached up with his free hand to point out the grouping of stars.

“Ah, I see it now!”  Anders exclaimed.  “Do all the elven God’s have constellations?”

“They do.”

Anders turned hopeful amber eyes toward the elf as he whispered in his ear, “Teach me?”

Fenris’ lips twitched into a blissful smile that even the subject of the next constellation could not deter.  “That one is my father’s, Lord Elgar’nan, Eldest of the Sun, hence it’s shape.”  He said, pointing out a vaguely sunburst shaped group of stars.

“So, when you say Eldest of the Sun, you don't mean the actual _sun_ is his father do you?”

“I do.”

“…so, the _sun_ … is your grandfather?”  Anders asked with an incredulously raised brow.

Fenris couldn’t help but laugh at the mage’s bewildered expression.  “I find it best not to overthink it.”  Any confused protests Anders’ may have made died in the face of the soft crooked grin Fenris offered him.

The mage chuckled warmly, “I suppose family is always complicated, no matter who you are.”

“Indeed.”  Fenris replied dryly as he pointed to a new cluster of stars.  “That is our sister Andruil’s constellation.  She is the Goddess of the Hunt and teaches elven hunters ‘Vir Tanadhal’, or The Way of Three Trees.  She is a rather strict teacher, and they say she placed the picture of a tree in the sky herself to remind her students of their lessons.  And there,” he smirked and pointed to a nearby grouping, “Is her twin’s constellation, which some say looks like a figure seated with her head in the clouds, can you guess who it belongs to?”

“Sylaise!”  Anders smiled warmly at the memory of the charming, if somewhat scatterbrained, woman.  “I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“Yes, though she and Andruil still reside in Arlathan, so I do not see them often.  The shape is intended to be a figure seated in meditation, representative of the ‘Vir Atish'an’, or The Way of Peace that she favors, but the extra stars around the head quickly became a part of the picture due to her… fanciful nature.  She of course finds it _cute_ , because-“ he coughed lightly as his voice took on a slightly higher pitch, his accent colored by her unique inflection, “-aren’t clouds lovely?  So soft and fluffy, rather like a-“

“A baby griffin!”  Anders chimed in with a rather dreadful imitation of his own, joining Fenris in soft laughter.

“That,” Fenris sighed and shifted closer to settle more comfortably against the mage’s side without conscious thought as he pointed, “Is the constellation of June, her would-be sweetheart.  No one knows where he came from, and some say his skill for crafting is so great that he forged himself.  He is a man of few words, even when courting, but the stars show him hard at work, bent over his forge as he creates countless gifts and wonders intended for Sylaise, though she alone consistently misinterprets their significance.”

Anders’ heart soared as Fenris relaxed against him, their sides pressed together and his head resting lightly against his shoulder.  “Poor bastard.  I suppose I’ll give him a break on how long that bell is taking him then.”  The mage’s smirk twitched into a full blown smile as Fenris huffed out a laugh against his neck.

“It is just as well.”  He whispered, the elf’s voice taking on a deeper timber as the soft words brushed against Anders’ skin, “I find I rather like seeing you blush when I surprise you.”  Color predictably rose to the mage’s cheeks, which Fenris took full delighted notice of.

Before Anders had a chance to attempt a sputtered reply, Fenris continued with his lesson, as though his sinful voice filled with desire and promise hadn’t just melted the mage’s brain a bit.  He pointed out the figure of a halla that represented Ghilan'nain, the northern guiding star situated directly between her twisting antlers.  Fenris scoffed as he mentioned Fen’Harel’s wolf constellation lurking nearby the shining halla.  As Anders remembered how the trickster God had spread rumors about the kind and wonderful man lying beside him, he gave the constellation a hardy glare for good measure.  Though the human’s facial expression certainly had no effect on the Dread Wolf for good or ill, it had made Fenris smile, so Anders counted it a victory.

“That one is my brother Le-“  Fenris caught himself and coughed awkwardly, “ _Dirthamen’s_.”

“You can call him Leto around me if you like you know, I won’t tell him.”  Anders said with a mischievous smirk.  “If I somehow slip up and he asks me where I heard it I can always say-“

“Hmmm, I wonder?”  Fenris supplied with a playful smirk, his voice taking on the smug teasing tone his brother favored with practiced ease.

“ _Spirits_ that’s eerie!”  Anders laughed and shuddered, “Never do that again!”

The elf’s rumbling laugh sounded again, “Forgive me, it is a twin’s prerogative.”  He pointed to his brother’s grouping of stars once more and continued, “Leto’s constellation is, predictably, shrouded in mystery.  Its shape is vague and has been interpreted as anything from a kneeling figure to a flaming orb, and every iteration is enthusiastically encouraged by my brother.  So it goes without saying that the shape _he_ sees in it is… a _secret_.”  Fenris whispered with an air of melodrama.  “He tells me it is actually the shape of a bear, as they are his favored animal.”

Anders laughed at Fenris’ apt description of the wily God of Secrets’ confounding behavior concerning something so simple as a picture in the stars.  “I remember Fear saying that once, but I never gave it much more thought, seeing as how I was in the middle of being _abducted_ at the time,” he gave Fenris’ hand a gentle squeeze to indicate how very much he _didn’t_ mind the unorthodox way he had arrived at this perfect moment, “And later in Orana’s memory.  It seems odd though, wouldn’t ravens be more fitting?”

Fenris smirked, “I have said the same.  However, Leto tells me bears are excellent at keeping secrets, whatever that is supposed to mean.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he makes up half of it, just to wind us up, and that’s his _greatest_ secret.”  Anders whispered conspiratorially with exaggerated seriousness.

The elf gave a snort of soft laughter.  “I may have to tell him your theory, he will no doubt find it amusing… or perhaps kill you for stumbling upon his diabolical plan.”

The mage scoffed.  “He’s no match for my ‘Trouser Leg on Fire’ technique.”

Fenris turned his face toward the grinning mage, laughing softly as he nuzzled his nose affectionately into the healer’s soft red gold hair.  “You are ridiculous,” he sighed contentedly and breathed in the mage’s scent, “I cannot remember the last time I have laughed so.”  He murmured with a hidden smile against the shell of Anders’ ear.

Anders felt his heart might burst with happiness as Fenris snuggled against his side with a contented hum.  “Your ridiculous Shemlen is still waiting to see his favorite elven God’s constellation…” he whispered with a soft smile.

Fenris’ breath caught as the word ‘your’ echoed through his soul.  “But I have already shown you Sylaise’s.”  He replied lightly, even as he dared to hope.

Anders turned to whisper against the crown of Fenris’ head, warm puffs of breath upsetting stark white hair as the mage’s lips brushed against the elf’s forehead, “ _Now_ who’s being ridiculous?”

Fenris closed his eyes as a warmth blossomed in his chest the likes of which he’d never known.  “It is nearly on the horizon at this time of year,” he spoke softly as he opened his eyes to return his gaze to the stars and point, “There, it is meant to be an owl.”

“I’ve noticed an awful lot of owl statues around the manor, are they your favorite?”

Fenris frowned thoughtfully.  “I like them well enough, though they were a symbol assigned to me, rather than one I chose.”

The mage turned his face toward him, his eyebrows furrowed.  “How come?”

“The owl is a solitary hunter, death on swift and silent wings, an ill omen… Falon’Din.”  Fenris said with a weary sigh.

Anders frowned softly and rubbed the back of Fenris’ hand with his thumb.  “You give owls too little credit.  My people see wisdom in their eyes, and they are loyal mates, the male working tirelessly to feed the female while she protects their eggs.”

A small amused smile tugged at Fenris’ lips at the mage’s efforts to cheer him.  “Is that so?”

“It is!”  Anders enthused, bolstered by the elf’s slowly returning smile, “They have a quiet dignity and grace that few creatures can match, and their speed and power is truly something to behold.”  He shifted to turn his body toward Fenris, the other man moving with him seamlessly as Anders reached with his free hand to caress the elf’s face.  “Owls are clever and quick witted, brave, selfless, honorable, kind…” his voice lowered and gaze softened as he continued, his tone growing increasingly serious as color rose to dust his cheeks, “…so kind it breaks my heart, and… breathtakingly beautiful.  One might even say I’ve come to… _love_ ,” Anders swallowed thickly, his amber eyes hooded as he subconsciously wet his lips, “…owls.”   

Fenris’ eyes widened, his heart hammering as he grasped Anders shoulders and rolled them both to lie atop the taller man, their legs tangling as Fenris leaned on his forearms over the mage’s gasping form.  The world narrowed down to two pairs of emerald and amber eyes, pupils blown wide, their gazes locked above blushing cheeks and panting lips, sheltered within the fall of Fenris’ soft white hair.  “Anders…”

“Fenris, I…” Anders murmured, his hands finding their way to the small of Fenris’ back to pull him close.  Lyrium lined fingers wove through thick golden hair as Fenris descended to claim his lips-

The elf suddenly hissed in pain, his markings flaring bright as he clenched his teeth and bowed his head to rest his forehead on the mage’s shoulder, his harsh panting breaths falling on Anders’ chest.  Anders’ elation turned to dread as Fenris’ body tensed above his.  “Fenris?!  Fenris what’s wrong?!”  The mage asked as he moved his hands in soothing patterns along the other man’s back.

“My markings, they ache when I am called.”  He answered with a shuttering breath.  The God’s frame tensed as he pulled himself away and stood, his strong lean frame haloed by a soft blue glow pulsing like a heartbeat.  “I am sorry Anders.”  Falon’Din whispered, his voice heavy with the staggering weight of duty he carried without complaint.

“Don’t be.  I understand… they need you.”  Anders said, clamoring to his feet, aching to reach out and do something, _anything_ to ease the other man’s pain.

The elven God nodded and took a step away, and Anders’ heart clenched.  “Fenris!  Wait-“ Anders exclaimed, his hand outstretched.  The elf turned to face him, questions flitting through the deep loneliness already encroaching on his emerald gaze.  “Just- before you go… just so we’re clear-“ Anders gasped breathlessly as he surged forward to cradle Fenris’ jaw and capture his lips in a searing kiss.  Fenris gasped, a spark traveling down his spine as he gripped the mage’s waist and melted against him, his eyes falling shut as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.  The mage had never given much credence to destiny or fate, but Spirits if it didn’t feel _right_ as he held Fenris in his arms, as though they were always made to be just as they were in this moment, their bodies perfectly suited to embrace one another as their hearts beat as one.  Anders pulled away and swallowed thickly, his thumbs gently caressing the elf’s flushed cheeks as he whispered against his panting lips, “-I _may_ not have been talking about owls during that last bit.”

A smile more open and free than Anders had ever seen on the dour elf now lit up his features, its radiance surpassing his pulsing markings to light up the night sky.  “Thank you for clarifying.”  He breathed with relief, his heart light and soaring as he rested his forehead against Anders’.  A particularly strong pull on his markings caused Fenris to hiss sharply, his hands tightening on the taller man’s hips.  “They are calling, there are many… I must go Anders.”

Anders smiled sadly and nodded, releasing his tender hold on the elf’s face with a soft lingering caress.  “Of course.  Be safe love.”

“Anders, may I- may I call on you when I return?”  Fenris asked with a shuddering breath, the mage’s endearment shaking him to his core and filling him with a joy he hadn’t thought possible.

“I’d be terribly disappointed if you didn’t.”  He replied softly with a teasing smirk upon his lips and sunlight shining in his golden eyes.

“We wouldn’t want that.”  Fenris murmured as he tilted his head up to brush his lips against his love’s, reveling in the soft warmth of Anders’ smile against the chaste kiss, before the elven God’s markings flared bright…

Anders blinked and brought faintly shaking fingertips up to touch his blissfully smiling lips as Fenris flashed away in an ethereal blaze of light.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Fenris flew through the shifting paths, his feet moving swiftly to match the beating of his soaring heart.  It felt odd to be smiling even as he raced toward his dreadful calling, but it was impossible to hold back the wave of joy rushing through him, his lips still tingling with the phantom sensation of Anders’ lips on his. 

Against all odds, Anders returned his feelings.  He had held him and kissed him and called him love.  _Love_!  Fenris had not said it back, too overcome with emotion to try and piece together all he felt for Anders into words, but surely the other man knew.  Despite their vast differences in culture and circumstance, they understood one another.  Though if by some chance there remained any question of his feelings, Fenris would shower him with kisses, sweet caresses, and words of deepest love upon his return, so as to leave no doubt in Anders' heart of his intentions.  Fenris had never before shirked his duty, and he didn't intend to start now, but it would be lying to say he wasn't eager to finish his work and fly to Anders' side.

 

* * *

 

As the God of knowledge and secrets, one of Dirthamen’s very few regrets in his ageless life was that he seldom found himself truly _surprised_ by much of anything.  However, as he traveled through the shifting paths in his brother’s shadow and tumbled into the mortal realm behind him, he was faced with one of those rare moments.

Leto had just enough time to register the unpleasant weightless sensation in his gut before a yelp escaped his throat and he found himself quickly plummeting toward the chilly depths of the Nocen Sea that lie to the east of Arlathan, bordered by the northern Shemlen kingdoms.  “Deceit!”  He shouted as he flailed in midair.

With a squawk and scramble of midnight wings, Deceit took aim and dove into his Master’s back in an explosion of feathers.  Large dark wings sprang from the elven God’s shoulder blades to stop his descent a hair’s breadth from the water’s turbulent surface.  Leto breathed a sigh of relief and allowed a small chuckle to escape him.  It wasn’t every day he had the chance to experience such a surprise, nasty though it may have been.

Dirthamen squinted into the watery depths below.  “Ah dear brother, always finding ways to go where I cannot follow.”  He lightly chided with a sad half smile.  “Fear-“

“Oh Master please don’t make me!  It shall be cold and wet and I will be eaten by a _whale_ and-“

“I am in need of your eyes Fear.”  Dirthamen pinned the raven with his gaze, the emerald depths shining with a hidden power, “You know you are under my protection, so do not make me ask again.”

“Yes Master Dirthamen.”  She recited before diving into the sea without hesitation, her body shifting fluidly into a sleek black shark.  She dove down into the depths, schools of fish scattering before her in panic as her gills strained for oxygen, her tail propelling her ever deeper into the abyss.  Her body soon began to elongate and her fins retracted, becoming a pitch black eel to flit quickly through the darkened water as the light from the surface became nothing but a memory.  The pressure grew as she lost track of which way was up or down in the endless black, her body shifting and compacting once more into a dark and gruesome angler fish, a shining lure bobbing before her to illuminate the chilling scene she came upon as she reached the ocean’s jagged floor.

 

* * *

 

In the countless years Falon’Din had spent guiding the souls of the dead to their rest, he had been called to all manner of strange places, but no matter how many times it happened, stepping through the Veil and straight into the depths of the ocean never failed to be unsettling.  His markings stayed alight, rendering him as incorporeal as his charges as he surveyed the ocean floor for the soul that had called him.  Or rather, _souls_.

Falon’Din frowned as his gaze fell upon a sunken ship, the likes of which the Shemlen of the north favored for ferrying goods between their ever expanding territories, the great vessel’s many oars powered by the galley full of captured elven slaves.  He steeled himself and slipped inside the belly of the crippled vessel.  The sight his markings illuminated was even more heartbreaking than he had anticipated.  At least two dozen pairs of ghostly eyes blinked back at him from where their souls ambled aimlessly between row upon row of pale waterlogged corpses, their dead limbs and flowing hair waving gently with the tides in a grim mockery of life. 

_Falon’Din!  Falon’Di-  Falon-  Guide my feet-  Falon’Din-  Falon’Di-  Calm my soul-  Lethanavir-  Falon’Din-  Lead me to my rest…_

He closed his eyes against the cacophony of voices echoing in the deep, each one imploring his help, his mercy.  Falon’Din would not deny them.  “Come to me Lethallin.”  Falon’Din spoke over the dim of frightened voices.  “Take my hand, I shall lead you.”  The ghostly forms turned as one to glide toward him, their faces lit with gratitude and relief as they circled the kindly friend of the dead.  Falon’Din did not shy away from their ghostly touches, silently organizing their hands upon him so they would all have a place to anchor themselves for the harrowing journey through the shifting paths.  He paused as the specter of a young girl reached for him, the poor thing no more than fourteen winters at the most.  Falon’Din took her hand in his and let his markings flare bright, the Veil parting before him-

“FALON’DIN!” 

The elven God froze as a new voice called out in a harsh thickly accented voice.  Falon’Din turned his head slowly, his blood running cold at what he saw.  A group of half a dozen Shemlen spirits stood, their once fine robes flowing around them eerily as they regarded him with cruel sneers.  “Who would have thought the knife ears’ silly bedtime stories were true!”  The one that stood at the head of the gathered men, likely the Captain of the doomed vessel, said with a bark of laughter.  “Very well then, make room slaves!  Your Masters take precedence.” 

Falon’Din’s eyes narrowed as the gathered elven souls began to quake and waver, their hands falling away as they began to fade, so terrified of the Shemlen even in death that facing the shifting paths alone seemed a better option.  “Stay by my side Da’len!”  Falon’Din shouted, stepping to the forefront to stand between the slavers and their prey.  “You will go _no_ further Shemlen!”  He commanded firmly, his blood raging at their arrogance.

The men had the audacity to laugh.  “Do you not think we have not heard our slaves constant whining for you before you came?  You are the kind and merciful Falon’Din are you not?  A friend to the dead, leaving behind no soul that asks for your guidance?  Then take us with you!  We demand you lead us into death!”  He spoke in a mocking tone, raising his arms to rally his fellows.

“Yes!  Lead us!”  “Lead us Falon’Din!”  “You cannot leave us behind!”

Falon’Din grit his teeth as his markings flared sharply in painful response to the Shemlen’s calls for guidance.  He turned his head to glimpse the frightened countenance of his brothers and sisters, their ghostly eyes pleading to be freed at last from their cruel Masters, death their final chance at escape.  His markings throbbed in agony as the Shemlen began chanting his name with growing strength and fervor.  Falon’Din’s eyes widened as he felt a tugging at the back of his tunic, the little girl having taken up residence cowering behind his frame as her spectral hands clutched the fabric tightly.

The elven God clenched his fists, fighting down the pain, and resolutely turned away.  “Falon’Din!  FALON’DIN!”  He ignored the slavers’ calls, blocked out the searing pain as he gathered the frightened lost souls of the elven slaves to his side and opened the Veil once more.  “WE WILL NEVER STOP CALLING FALON’DIN!  WE WILL NEVER REST, NEVER TIRE, NEVER GIVE YOU A MOMENT’S PEACE!”  Falon’Din held his head high, his charges held firmly to his side and his markings on fire… and stepped through the Veil.

“ **FALON’DIN**!!!!!”

 

* * *

 

Falon’Din staggered through the parted Veil in a flash of blinding light, and collapsed straight into his brother’s waiting arms.  The great black wings fixed to Dirthamen’s back that had afforded his speedy flight to his twin’s side wrapped around Fenris’ shaking figure in an instinctive attempt to shelter him from the pain that assailed him, before they burst into a cloud of feathers as Deceit flew from his Master’s back with a gasping squawk.  The raven shot to his counterpart’s side, the two chittering and fussing at Fear’s dampened feathers with an air of relief at finally being reunited.  Dirthamen paid them no mind as he gathered Falon’Din in his arms and easily lifted him off the cold stone floor.  Any acolytes that came across the pair as Dirthamen carried his stricken brother to his quarters fled the gathering shadows that pooled in Dirthamen’s steps and crept up the walls, the air sparking with lightning in his wake.

Fear and Deceit looked at one another in silent conversation, and then took flight as one.

 

* * *

 

“How dare they?!  That those monsters, those _Shemlen_ should _dare_ invoke your name!”  Dirthamen paced the floor of his brother’s quarters, tendrils of shadow licking off his tense frame like terrible black fire. 

“Leto…”  Fenris hissed, curled in on himself in agony as his markings pulsed in a never ending rhythm. 

“I will end them!  I will upset the seas and move the earth itself to bury them!  I will see that the ocean depths forever keep their secrets!”

Fenris’ shaking hand reached out to faintly brush against the gathering storm that he alone need not fear.  “…brother.”

Leto’s furious features collapsed as he ceased his pacing and rushed to his brother’s side.  “What must I do Fenris?  Tell me and I shall see it done!”

“Leto…” he breathed, panting through the searing pain as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position.  “There is nothing to be done.  Even if you buried them in the earth, they will still call.”  His jaw tensed as he raised his head, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.  “They will _always_ call.  I must simply learn to endure it.”

“No!  Brother no!  You cannot be made to endure this!”  Leto clutched one of his brother’s fisted hands in his, tears shining in his eyes.  “Then I shall lead them into the Beyond in your stead.  I cannot find the way as quickly or as well, but I can find it if it means an end to your suffering.  My love for you surpasses even my pride in this!”

Fenris huffed out a dark humorless laugh through the searing pain.  “ _Nothing_ will surpass my pride in this brother.  They must never be given safe passage.  They must _never_ be able to reach our brothers and sisters again.”

“But… Fenris…”  A tear ran down Leto’s cheek.

Falon’Din’s tense frame stiffened as he clenched his teeth tight, the God halting his pained shaking even as his markings continued to wildly flare.  “Leave me be Leto.  I would not have you pained as well.  I will master this in time.”  He said calmly, his eyes shut as he turned his focus inward to meditate as he did when injured during battle, attempting in vain to block out the searing agony.

“Fen-“

“ _Please_ brother.”  Fenris whispered, a tear to match his twin’s escaping the corner of his eye.

Fenris faintly registered his brother’s pained and frustrated shout as the door slammed shut, and then he was alone with his torment.

 

* * *

 

Anders carefully placed his borrowed lute beside the fire with a satisfied sigh.  He was getting better, each time he played his love’s song his fingers flew more faithfully to their proper positions.  Anders couldn’t wait to play it for Fenris, couldn’t wait for him to return, couldn’t wait to hold and kiss him and tell him all that he’d been bottling up within his heart for longer than even he had realized.  But until then he supposed he should try and get some sleep.  The mage worried for a brief moment that he might miss the elf’s return, but Fenris had promised to call on him.  Anders' heart sped up as he imagined he wouldn’t mind so much this time if Fenris suddenly appeared behind him.

He allowed himself a moment of rather foolish whimsy as he wrapped his arms around his middle and imagined it was Fenris who embraced him.  If he closed his eyes he could almost feel Fenris’ soft lips, his shy smile, pressed against his shoulder as he nuzzled his hair and held him tight.  Anders sighed and let the pleasant fantasy slip away, content that they would soon craft their own private moments together that would likely surpass anything he could imagine.  The mage reached up, intent on removing his hair tie and slipping into bed… when the room exploded in a cloud of raven’s feathers. 

Anders jumped back and instinctively reached for his staff propped beside the lute, but quickly traded his alarm for confusion as Fear and Feather Duster landed on his bed in a tangle of flapping wings.  “They will call forever!  Forever!”  Fear lamented ominously, managing to pluck a few feathers from her breast with her quaking beak before Deceit gently pecked at her with a croak of reproach.

“Lord Falon’Din is happy and safe and comfortable!”  Deceit cawed with a wild flapping of his midnight wings, his inky black eyes wide with panic.

The mage’s eyebrows furrowed as his tired mind sped up to process the raven’s blasted double talk.  “Wait!  Safe and ha- what has happened to Fenris?!”  Anders shouted, his heart racing with gathering dread.

“The Shemlen are kind and merciful!  Their voices do not reach him!”  Deceit squawked, his nervous companion taking up plucking out her feathers once more while he spoke.

Anders growled and shooed Deceit aside, lacking the patience to interpret his lies, and bent to pick up Fear and cradle her to his chest.  “Fear, I know something terrible happened, but you’ve got to calm down and tell me.  Please!”

After her initial panicked flailing at his approach she settled snugly against him and murmured, “It was so cold and dark, grasping hands and empty eyes, their voices ever calling from the deep.”

“The deep?  I don’t understand!  Where is Dirthamen, is he with Fenis?!”  Anders asked, forcing himself to breathe and not give into the all-encompassing fear the raven embodied.

Fear squirmed in panic as she tried to flap her sheltered wings.  “The Master is all shadow and fury!  He guards Lord Falon’Din’s torment!  The Shemlen pet must not approach him, lest the eternal silence of death forever keep his secrets!”

Her dire warning about the certain death he faced at her Master’s hand registered vaguely in the back of his mind, but it held little weight when compared to the apparent torment his love was enduring, the hateful word heavying his heart and spurring him to action.  Anders shifted the shivering raven to perch upon his shoulder and grabbed his staff.  “Deceit, show me!”

 The mage threw open the door and the raven shot out like an arrow toward the gathering storm. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Anders shivered as the hair on his arms stood on end and sparked with static, his harsh breaths fogging in the chilled air as they drew closer to the wing that held the twin brothers’ private chambers.  He had never been so far into this part of the manor, out of respect for the elven Gods’ privacy, but given the jagged crystalline patterns of ice that crept along the carpet and the terrible shadows that licked up the walls and plunged the hallway deeper into darkness the further he traveled, Anders had no trouble guessing where Dirthamen could be found.  Deceit finally fluttered down to roost upon his shoulder opposite Fear and cawed in warning as the mage’s bare feet skidded along the icy floor, whipping around the corner and into a large central hall to stand face to face with the dreadful countenance of the Mighty Dirthamen, the elf no longer even resembling the often mischievous, and sometimes smug, but ultimately kind man Anders had come to think of as a friend.

“Dirth-“

“Silence!”  The elven God spoke coldly, his deep voice rumbling along the walls and making Anders’ chest vibrate with dread.  Dirthman’s eyes narrowed, the orbs cold and sharp as the gem whose color they exhibited, and raised his hand ominously before him.

A wave of energy washed over the stunned mage, his startled gasp revealing that Dirthamen’s spell hadn’t taken his voice, but something so much worse.  “What-“ Anders’ heart hammered as he reached for his magic, only to find the ever present song inside him deafened, “What have you done Dirthamen?!”  The mage shouted, his voice cracking in panic.

“What have _I_ done?”  Dirthamen took a step toward him, his hand sparking with lightning as he snapped his fingers, “Let us start with what you have done, _Shemlen_!”

At the God’s wordless command, the two ravens perched upon Anders’ shoulders cawed in unison, their inky black eyes glowing lyrium blue before the Void broke loose.  Anders shouted as Deceit disappeared in a cloud of feathers and shadow.  His heart stopped as he frantically turned to his other shoulder, only to see Fear’s sleek feathers shifting into hard cool scales, her body stretching to wind around his neck and shoulders in the form of a thick black snake, her fangs dripping with venom as she reared back to strike.  Anders flailed and threw the snake off his shoulders to land heavily at Dirthamen’s feet.

Anders clutched his staff defensively in front of him as the elven God continued stalking toward him, Fear slithering up his leg and chest to coil upon his shoulders.  “Shemlen?  Since when have you forgotten my name?”  He jumped back and stumbled on shaking legs as the elf fired a searing fireball at him, the heat singeing his hair and searing his skin as it passed.  “What have I done to you Dirthamen?!”

“What your kind always does!”  Anders scrambled away from the rapid fall of bolt after bolt of lightning punctuating the God’s harsh words.  “You toddle up to us in your ignorance, pointing in awe and coveting our power, and like _fools_ , we _trust_ you time and again!  And what do you do with the gifts we give you, to the _place_ we give you in our hearts?!  You stab us!” 

“Stab… I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  Anders shouted as he rolled away from another blast of fire.  “What has happened to Fe-“ his words were cut off in a pained hiss as he landed on jagged spikes of ice the God brought up below him.

“ _You_ happened!  You and your wretched kind!  They dare to call his name!  As if they are _worthy_ of his kindness!”  Tears glimmered in his pained emerald eyes before he angrily blinked them away.  “They will call him always, torment him ALWAYS!  AND NOTHING CAN BE DONE!”  The ground shook and shadowy tendrils poured from his tense frame as sparks of raw power gathered in his palms.

Anders heard the familiar song of his magic stirring deep within his soul, the sound sluggish and far away, as though struggling to wake from a nightmare.  If he could just buy some time, perhaps he could protect himself long enough to talk some sense into Dirthamen.  The mage took in the elven God’s firm stance, his feet planted a shoulder width apart as he gathered crackling iridescent energy seemingly from the very air around him.  Anders’ heart sank as he stared up at the fearsome God, his terrible wrath set to rain down upon him any second now. 

 _You have talent Anders, do not doubt yourself_ …  Anders gasped and closed his eyes as his love’s dark velvet voice whispered through his soul, the memory bolstering his spirit and steeling his heart.  The only way to get to Fenris, was through the man before him.  Not Dirthamen, the angry God who suddenly hated all Shemlen, but Leto, the distraught and frightened brother of the man they both loved with all their hearts.  A man who Leto feared was beyond help, and who Anders was determined to save, even if it cost him his life to try. 

Anders' mind raced as he considered what he knew of Dirthamen’s technique.  He was shockingly powerful, the attacks he had blessedly dodged thus far were clearly more than capable of killing him instantly if they struck true.  His focus was off however, his aim less sharp and his power less controlled, likely a result of his fragile emotional state.  The mage’s gaze was drawn to his stance once more, strong and steady and… halfway across the room.  Dirthamen always kept his distance, the elf clearly more comfortable as a ranged attacker than in a melee, his lack of weapon giving him more freedom to cast, but less defense if the fight was brought to him.  Anders smirked as it suddenly became apparent exactly how Fenris had honed his fighting style… it was likely the only way he could defeat his brother in a sparring match without the aid of magic!

The mage grit his teeth and sprang from his crouch to run straight at the furious Deity, his simple wooden staff his only weapon as he threw himself into the eye of the gathering storm.

Dirthamen’s eyes widened as the ever foolhardy Shemlen barreled toward him barefoot and in his sleeping clothes, his magic silenced and his weapon now of little more use than a stick… a determined fire burning in his golden eyes that sent a shiver down Leto’s spine.  He prematurely discharged the gathering power in his hands and used the explosion it caused to create more distance, using the shockwave to his advantage as he leapt out of the mage’s reach. 

Anders was quick to follow, his movements not as smooth as Fenris’ graceful form, but he had certainly spent enough time appreciating his movements to make a decent go of it.  He spun and ducked fire and lightning, used patches of ice to speed his momentum rather than impede it as he gained on the retreating elf.  The mage twirled his staff in a dizzying pattern, catching Dirthamen off guard and causing him to stumble as he dodged the onslaught.  Anders swiped his weapon up in a swift blur, an arc of crimson blood soaring through the air before splattering on the ground between them.

Dirthamen glared fiercely through his right eye as he rose his hand to cover his bloodied left, the mage’s staff having left a deep scrape up his cheek and across his eyebrow.  “Protect your Master!”  He ordered his servants, his voice shaking with a hint of fear.  They answered his call instantly, the God vanishing in a whirl of shadow and feathers.

Anders yelped and jumped back as Fear’s serpentine form leapt from her Master’s shoulders before he fled to land with a massive thud before him, the ground groaning in protest as Anders looked up and up into the gaping maw of a giant bear.  _Master’s favorite indeed_.  The mage thought wryly, before the creature’s midnight black hackles raised and Fear let loose a mighty roar and swiped a paw at his head.  Anders ducked and rolled away, less than eager to hurt Fear once again when she was hardly herself, assuming he would even be able to make a dent in the bloody beast regardless.  He quickly scanned the room for Dirthamen’s hiding place.  “I don’t want to hurt Fear!  Damn it I don’t want to fight any of you!  You’re my _friend_ Dirthamen!”

Fire rained down from the rafters and Anders shouted as his arm caught the edge of the blaze, his skin blistering as his nerves caught fire.  “But for how long?  You have already shown just how much your _friendship_ is worth, have just written it in my blood!  How long until you find a way to hurt him too?!”  The God’s voice echoed around him in a dizzying cacophony, revealing no trace of his location.

Tears prickled at Anders’ eyes, despair beginning to settle in as he imagined what sort of terrible fate had befallen the man he loved, and how he must be suffering while they squabbled.  “This is only wasting time!  If you insist on fighting me, then do so!  If not then let me pass!”

“Wasting time you say?!  What do you know of _time_ Shemle-“

“DAMN IT ALL WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO FENRIS?!”  Anders voice cracked and broke as an anguished tear ran down his cheek.

Leto gasped, his guise of shadows falling away as Anders’ amber gaze locked with his across the room.  “Did you say… _Fenris_?  Wh- where did you hear that name?”  He asked, for the first time sounding a touch unsure as he studied the mage’s reaction carefully.

Anders met Leto’s narrowed emerald eye straight on, his head held high.  “Fenris told me himself.  He needs me, needs us _both_ right now, and instead of being by his side we’re standing in the hallway shouting about it like a couple of idiots!”  The mage threw his staff to the ground and stormed toward the shocked elf as he spoke.  “I _love_ him, and… for whatever fool reason… he loves me back!  Spirits I even love _your_ stubborn arse like the brother I never knew I wanted!”

“Wha- what are you do-“  Leto gasped and flinched as Anders crowded into his space and pulled his bloodied hand away from his wound.

“Shut up and hold still!  I think your little trick is starting to wear off and if you keep fidgeting I might end up healing your eye shut by mistake!”  Anders grumbled with a frown, healing light already gathering in his hand as he raised it to the injury he had caused the startled elf.

All the fight seemed to drain out of Leto’s frame as he gazed up in awe at the burnt and bleeding man before him as he furrowed his brows and concentrated on healing the wrathful God that had just tried to kill him.  Somewhere across the hall the massive bear shrank down into Fear’s normal feathered form and she immediately took wing and flew to her Master’s side, her beak burrowing into his tousled hair in what seemed to be an attempt to both offer and receive comfort.  Leto could only blink when Deceit chose to make his perch on Anders’ shoulder, the mage acknowledging the bird’s arrival with a nod and a muttered ‘Feather Duster’ even as he focused on the flesh sealing back together beneath his glowing palm.  _What a pair of fools we are._   Leto thought with no small amount of shame.

“Anders,” Leto slowly reached up to pull the mage’s hand away, “Stop, please.  It is only a scratch, and Fenris needs your healing more than I.  I can do nothing to help him… but perhaps… perhaps your gift can save him…”  The elf took a deep breath and regaled Anders with the terrible scene he had witnessed through Fear’s eyes that had played out at the bottom of the sea.  The mage clenched his fists and hung his head sadly when he learned about the men of his own race that mercilessly tormented Fenris even now, that planned to torture him for all time, and Anders could understand Leto’s fury directed at his kind.  How anyone could be so cruel he couldn’t begin to understand, and he hoped he never would.

Leto finished his tale and waved a hand, dispelling a barrier that had hidden a door from view off the battered and smoldering hall.  “Go to him Anders, please try to ease his pain.”

“Come with me.  He will be glad to have you by his side.”  Anders implored, his hand squeezing the elf’s vacant shoulder.

The elf smirked sadly and shook his head.  “There is too much anger in me still at what has befallen him.  He does not need that now.  You were right when you said it, Fenris needs _you_.”  A shadow of the old inscrutable Dirthamen returned as he grinned wryly.  “Do not concern yourself with me.  I shall go and lick my wounds for now, and listen to my servants scold me for my foolish behavior.”

Deceit seemed to take that as his cue to return to his place upon his Master’s shoulder as the now unencumbered mage received a gentle shove toward the door to Fenris’ quarters.  Anders turned back and bit his lip anxiously.  “I really am sorry about…” he gestured awkwardly toward the cut that still stood out a vivid white along the elf’s cheek and brow, “If you just let me finish, you won’t have that scar-“

Dirthamen smirked, confident and mysterious as ever.  “I think I shall keep it.  I believe scars are reminders of lessons learned.  I do not have many scars, and I admit I often feel as though I have nothing left to learn.”  He traced the faint groove in his olive skin with a fingertip.  “You have taught me much Anders, and this will help ensure that I do not forget it.  Besides…” Leto grinned as a glimmer of mirth shone in his eyes, “It may serve to make me appear more mysterious.”  With a wink and a whirl of midnight feathers, Anders was left alone with only a single door standing between himself and his heart. 

Anders swallowed thickly and turned the handle.

 

* * *

 

A bright flashing blue illuminated the stately bedroom in steady pulses, and when the healer’s eyes landed on the source of the flares, he had flown to his stricken lover’s side in a single beat of his aching heart.  Anders’ hands hovered nervously over the elf’s shaking body, anxious to ease his pain even as he was afraid to cause more by touching him.  Fenris for his part hadn’t seemed to notice his presence, his eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched tight as he lie curled in on himself on his tangled bedsheets, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his skin as his breaths came out in ragged gasps.

“Oh love…” Anders breathed with an anguished sigh, his hand gently settling on Fenris’ tightened fist where it clenched the bedsheets, as if the fabric was the only thing anchoring him from flying apart at the seams.

Pained and bloodshot emerald eyes flew open and a shaking hand shot out to grasp his wrist.  Surprise and fear gave way to overwhelming relief as he glimpsed the warm golden eyes of the man he loved.  “Anders.”  Fenris croaked out, his entire frame shaking as he made to rise up into a sitting position only to collapse back onto the bed.

“Shhh, stay there love, I’ve got you Fenris, just lie still… just breathe for me…”  Anders muttered, hardly knowing what he was saying other than that they were words of love and comfort, his entire focus thrown into calling kind Spirits from the Beyond to aid him.  The room lit with the soft glow of Spirit wisps as the healer set to work.

The ringing in Fenris' ears and roaring of his blood calmed slightly, the insistent calls still there, but dampened as though cotton had been placed in his ears to give him a moment’s brief respite.  It was enough for Fenris to open is eyes fully and get a proper look at the mage as his hands hovered above him, his handsome features set in a serious expression as a green healing glow painted him in stark relief.  The elf frowned and made to sit once more.  “Anders… stop- you are injured.”  Fenris struggled to haul himself up, shoving the other man’s worried hands away as they tried to ease him to lie back down.

“Fenris I’m fine, please lie down, let me help-“

Fenris fixed him with a stern glare and crossed his arms even as his markings throbbed.  “You will not touch me until you have healed your own wounds.”  He pronounced stubbornly through clenched teeth.

The two men stared at one another for a long moment, a contest of wills raging between them, when Anders finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a humorless laugh.  “Alright, you win.”  He quickly placed a glowing hand over the large angry burn on his arm, the faint lines of pain around his eyes easing as the skin smoothed and healed under his touch.  “There, _now_ will you let me help you?”  Anders asked with an exasperated sigh, a faintly singed lock of hair fluttering before him.

Fenris lifted a quaking hand to lightly brush against a slight burn on the mage’s right cheek and ear.  “Here.”  He whispered, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fen-“

“ _Please_.”  Fenris breathed.  He let out a sigh of relief as Anders raised a hand to cover his and let his healing magic flood through their joined hands and into the wound below.  “How did you get these Anders?”  The elf asked with a frown as he gently guided their joined hands to a bleeding cut on the mage’s lip, a starburst shaped burn from a lightning strike on his shoulder, a puncture from a shard of ice along his side…

“It doesn’t matter.”  Anders sighed in defeat at Fenris mutinous glare, knowing he wasn’t going to get off that easily.  “Your brother.”

“WHAT?!”

Anders’ eyes widened as Fenris’ markings flared bright and he made to stand, storm clouds gathering in his emerald eyes.  “No, Fenris stop!  It’s alright, he was only trying to protect you!  He’s so worried about you Fenris… we both are.  Once we finally sorted that out… it’s fine now love.  We’re _fine_.  Please don’t be cross with him.”

Fenris met his eyes, his gaze filled with worry and hope and everything in-between, his tense frame finally settling upon the bed once more in the face of Anders’ warm reassuring smile.  “He- I- we will have _words_ later.”  He muttered as he leaned forward to place a lingering kiss upon Anders’ brow.

Anders closed his eyes and smiled, his hands gently circling the elf’s waist in a loose embrace, mindful of the ever pulsing markings.  “Do they still call?”  The healer asked hesitantly, fearing he already knew the answer.

The elven God sighed and relaxed into his love’s embrace, resting his forehead on his broad shoulder and lightly gripping the thin fabric of his cotton tunic.  “They will always call.  It is the price I must pay… my punishment for turning my back upon my duty.”

“Nugshit!”  Anders cursed passionately, tears gathering his eyes at the sad resignation in the elf’s voice.  “It isn’t your duty to lead monsters like that to any sort of rest.  They don’t deserve your kindness!”

“It is not my place to play judge and jury.  I am merely a guide, a friend to the dead… no matter who they may be.”  His grip tightened as his markings flared, the elf continuing through teeth clenched in pain, “But I- I could not do it.  They were so frightened Anders, even in death they could not escape…”

Anders closed his eyes and poured his magic into the pulsing lines adorning his lover’s body, the marks he had once seen as graceful and lovely now serving to torment him.  “It’s not your fault love.  People like them shouldn’t be rewarded for their cruelty.”

“But they are your people Anders.  How can you still hold me-“ his voice cracked with emotion as he whispered, “-call me _love_ , when I denied your kin their final rest?”

“They are _not_ my people.  _My_ people are those that care for others and treat them with respect and dignity.  Other than that I don’t care what race they call themselves or what bloody shape their ears are.  My mother, Karl, your brother, Orana… and you.”  Anders looked up from his embrace to meet his love’s shining gaze, “ _You_ are my people Fenris.”

“I love you.”  Fenris breathed from the bottom of his heart, his hands raising up to caress the mage’s stubbled jaw and pull him in for a breathtaking kiss.  Anders gasped softly beneath the gentle press of Fenris’ lips, the healing light from his hands flaring bright and engulfing them as the elf’s warm tongue shyly followed his into the welcoming heat of the mage’s mouth.  Their breaths mingled as their tongues moved together in a slow dance, all gentle caresses and tender exploration as they each began to learn the taste and feel of the other.

All too soon they felt the need to part for air, both men panting softly as their foreheads rested together.  “Lie down.”  Anders whispered.

Even through the ever present haze of agony, Fenris found it in him to smirk teasingly.  “I hardly think I’m in any shape for strenuous activity at the moment, as much as I might wish otherwise.”

Anders chuckled softly and placed a gentle chaste kiss to the elf’s grinning lips.  “Get your mind out of the gutter.  I mean to heal you, and I’d like to at least have a soft surface to eventually pass out on.”

Fenris lips turned down slightly.  “Do not tax yourself on my account Anders.  There is nothing to be done.  I will learn to bear it.”  He caressed his face and peppered a soft kiss on the mage’s cheek to halt a single tear’s path.  “You have done more than enough my love.”

The healer met his eyes defiantly, his eyebrows set in a determined line.  “Now listen.  I may be just a ridiculous Shemlen, and perhaps I can’t command an obnoxious pair of ravens, or walk the shifting paths, or even play the bloody lute worth a damn, but what I _can_ do is hold the man I love and do absolutely everything in my power to take his pain away, if even for a moment.  Does it help with the pain?  Be honest Fenris.”

Fenris blinked at the mage’s somewhat stern but utterly sincere expression, “Yes, of course it does, but-“

“Then humor me.”  Anders pronounced with finality as he stood to fairly manhandle the elven God to lie back upon the bed and promptly snuggled up beside him as he silently began to pray.  Even if he knew that it wouldn’t necessarily make a difference in the aid he received from the Spirits, Anders figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.  Perhaps the Creators the elves spoke of would hear his pleas and grant their kind and selfless son amnesty from the hateful calls that plagued him.  _Please, Spirits… Creators, please punish him no further.  Deafen his ears to those that call out of hatred and malice, please help him…_

Fenris’ heart fluttered as he watched the healer close his eyes and focus all his energy and power to pour into the elf’s tired and aching frame.  Never had he felt so precious to another, so _loved_ , as he did in this moment.  Right now he was not Falon’Din, the strong and silent elven God, master of Death itself… but rather just a man, a simple man being held by the man he loved and trusted with all his heart.  Fenris let down his guard completely, allowing himself a moment of weakness and vulnerability in his lover’s strong arms, never more sure of his safety as he sighed and melted into Anders’ sheltering warmth.

Even as both men drifted into an exhausted sleep, the healing glow from the mage’s hands continued to soak into the flowing lines of lyrium embedded in the elf’s skin, the magical substance feeding and sustaining the healer’s power in an infinite loop that stretched on into the endless night.


	13. Chapter Thirteen *NSFW*

Fenris awoke slowly, each sense returning gradually like rays of sunlight filtering downward through deep emerald water as he leisurely surfaced.  His body’s first semi-conscious act was to tense in readiness for the searing pain that had plagued him before sleep had blessedly claimed him.  The elf’s ears twitched as a sleepy murmur of discontent sounded from somewhere outside himself, followed by his rigid frame being gathered closer toward a comforting warmth that served to melt away his tension.  A distant part of his mind sleepily noted that despite his fears, the expected pain never came… it was _gone_. 

In the absence of pain, Fenris drowsily cataloged the other sensations he felt against his skin.  He was wearing trousers, but no tunic… he distantly recalled removing it to ease the pain on his markings… hands… someone’s hands were on him, one touching the bare skin of this back and the other holding his right hand, their fingers loosely tangled together, the embrace warm and safe… healing.  _Anders_.  The tension bled from his body completely with a contented sigh as he melted against the mage’s larger frame.  A smile twitched to his lips as he inhaled the other man’s scent, clean and earthy like fresh spring rain on lush grass, with hints of sandalwood bathing soap and Anders’ unique musk, the deep and masculine aroma stirring at something primal in Fenris’ blood as his body sluggishly roused from slumber.

It had been decades since Fenris had seen a proper sunrise, but as he blinked his eyes open, he felt as though a new day was dawning across the mage’s features.  His head lay haloed in soft golden light, the low burning fire in the hearth behind him flickering against the healthy shine of his hair and illuminating the faint stubble on his jaw in a shimmering trail.  Fenris skimmed a fingertip along the rough surface, smiling at the strange and intriguing texture.  His fingers gently wandered up to trace along the sleeping Shemlen’s ear, the firelight filtering through his skin making the gracefully rounded arch glow red orange like the rising sun.  The elf marveled at the shape, so different from his own, so beautiful.

Fenris’ exploration moved to the mage’s golden hair that had always captivated him, the soft strands shimmering with auburn highlights and just begging to be touched.  As he gently combed through thick waves of hair, Fenris noted with a fond smirk that Anders had yet to remove the hair tie he often wore, being so concerned with his wellbeing the night before as to forget its presence.  Fenris bit his lip and carefully grasped one end of the lopsided bow and gently pulled it free, careful not to wake the sleeping mage.  The elf froze and felt his ears heat as Anders mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like his name as he stirred faintly, but ultimately remained asleep.  Fenris absently fiddled with the leather strip, which was longer than he would have expected for a hair tie.  It had likely started out its life as laces for a tunic or pair of trousers and had been cleverly repurposed by the resourceful mage. 

As the elven God watched the man before him sleep, his hair freed to fall in a shining curtain and his features smoothed in peaceful slumber, Fenris was hit with a powerful revelation.  With the Shemlen’s larger frame and exotic features, his golden hair and rounded ears, Anders could hardly appear any more different from himself… but it did not matter in the face of what they shared.  Against all odds… Anders _loved_ him.  He was the day to Fenris’ night, the light to his darkness, and no amount of time or distance could ever change the fact that Fenris loved him in return.  Even when the mage returned to his people and their time together here was nothing but a fleeting memory, Anders would _always_ hold his heart.

Though bittersweet, something about that simple truth comforted Fenris as his hands began moving almost on their own accord, his right hand gently untangling itself from Anders’ hold and joining his left to loop and thread the simple leather strip on itself from memory.  It was a knot he had learned long ago, when he had been young and foolish and had still believed in fairy tales with happy endings…

 

* * *

 

Anders woke with a contented hum, his sleepy senses telling him that all was right with the world as he buried his nose in the soft nest of hair before him and breathed in the soothing scents of cured leather, crisp apples, and the ozone-like aroma of magic… of _lyrium_.  “Fenris…”  He murmured with a sigh, pulling the warm and pliant body in his arms closer.  The mage cracked an eye open as a deep rumbling laugh sounded softly from the vicinity of his chest.  “Mmmm good morning.”  Anders slurred, his voice deepened and heavy with sleep as he blinked and squinted around with some confusion to glimpse the eternal night sky peeking through deep crimson curtains.  “Or… evening?”  He turned back to meet Fenris’ alert and smiling eyes, the mage laughing softly as he finally settled on an appropriate greeting.  “Hello love.” 

“Hello my love.”  Fenris whispered, a fond smile on his lips, which were soon pressed lightly to Anders’ in a sweet kiss.

The mage’s amber eyes hooded with pleasure as he affectionately nuzzled his nose against the elf’s, floating in a haze of bliss, happy and comfortable- _comfortable_!  Anders eyes snapped open with a gasp, quickly scanning the markings on Fenris’ arms and chest, the flowing lines once again a dormant white rather than the pulsing glow they had been.  “Fenris, the markings- are they- are you-“

“The pain is gone Anders,” Fenris breathed, his left hand settling above the mage’s racing heart, “You have healed me.”

“I- but I- are you sure?”  The mage gasped with a shaky breath, a brilliant smile quickly winning over his worried expression as the truth began to settle in when he looked into Fenris sparkling emerald eyes, full of joy and mirth and so much _love_ , and most importantly, utterly free of pain.  “Thank the Creators!”  He murmured as he used his right arm to gather the elf’s smaller frame tight against his chest with a shuddering sigh of relief.  Fenris was more than happy to enjoy his lover’s fierce embrace, his shy and perfect smile pressed against Anders’ chest like a brand above his heart.

Once Anders’ grip had loosened, Fenris leaned back to curiously meet the other man’s golden gaze.  “The Creators?  I had not realized we elves had converted you during your time here.”  He teased with a faint smirk, and was surprised when the mage responded not with a quip of his own, but a sheepish smile and heated blush.

“I hadn’t realized it either, and it’s not as if I really know what to believe, it’s just- you were in so much pain Fenris, and I was terrified.  I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to help you, that every bit of power I had still wouldn’t be enough… so… I prayed.  I asked the Spirits and the Creators and anyone who would listen to help me take away your pain… and well… someone must have listened.”  He smiled softly and brushed a stray lock of hair from Fenris’ eyes.  “After all, I already know the elven Gods and Spirits are real, why not the Creators?”

“Thank you Anders.”  Fenris smiled and captured the mage’s large warm hand and kissed his palm.  “Whoever else it is I own my thanks to, you shall have to contend with being the main recipient of my gratitude.”  His smile grew slightly wicked as he leaned forward to whisper teasingly against Anders’ lips, “After all, I am not lying in bed with the Creators.”  He sealed his words with a fleeting kiss, an offer, a promise… should Anders want it honored.

Anders laughed softly and chased the elf’s smirking lips to capture them with his own.  “I’m still getting used to the fact that I’m finally allowed to kiss you.”  He hummed, punctuating his statement with another playful kiss.

The elf huffed a rumbling laugh against the mage’s lips in-between kisses that were gradually growing less chaste and more passionate.  “Indeed you are.  One might even say you are…” his lips met Anders’ once more, his teeth catching the mage’s bottom lip to tug it lightly as he pulled away, “…encouraged to do so.”

Anders moaned deep in his throat and enthusiastically surged forward to meet his lover in a heated embrace, his tongue tracing the elf’s full bottom lip before being drawn inside the warm cavern of Fenris’ mouth.  Fenris fairly purred as he shifted closer, Anders’ fingers weaving through his soft white hair and sighing blissfully as he traced the subtle contours of his lover’s mouth.  Legs shifted and tangled as Fenris growled with desire and rolled on top of the taller man, his left hand gripping the mage’s long blonde locks while his right hand remained entangled with Anders’ left.  The mage made to wrap both arms up to encircle the elf’s slim strong waist, when his eyes flew open with a surprised gasp.  “Ah… Fenris?”

“Hmmm?”  He replied distractedly as he trailed kisses along the sandpaper stubble on the mage’s jaw.

“Have you finally decided to keep me captive?”  Anders quirked an eyebrow, smirking as he raised his left hand, which was not only held in his lover’s grasp, but loosely bound to the elf’s wrist with what looked like his hair tie, now tied in an elaborate looking knot.  “Not that I’m complaining.”

Fenris froze in his sensual exploration of Anders’ neck, his face hidden even as his ears burned crimson.  “Not exactly.”  He muttered shyly, finally raising his gaze to meet the mage’s sheepishly.  “It is an elven custom intended to… to tie my heart to yours.”  Fenris began subconsciously stroking the back of Anders’ hand with his thumb, as though in silent apology.  Anders brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles softly in encouragement.  Fenris sighed, a measure of tension leaving his frame as he continued softly, “The knot has no beginning nor end… just as my love for you.”

“Fenris, that-“ Anders swallowed, his voice thick with emotion, “That sounds like a handfasting.”

“I- that is- it is typically used as such-“

The mage grinned, his amber eyes shining with mirth, “So in essence, you just married me in my sleep?”

The elf’s vivid blush spread from his ears to dust his cheeks as his emerald eyes widened.  “What?!  I- no!  That is to say- it was not my intent- which is not to say that I would not want- but without your consent I- I would never-“

Anders’ heart swelled with affection for the flustered elf as he stammered and blushed.  Though he had thought to continue teasing his endearingly shy lover, the next words that tumbled from Anders’ lips were colored with a sincerity that surprised even himself, though as soon as they were uttered, he realized the truth in them.  “Because for the record, _I do_.” 

“-presume that you would- what?”  Fenris blinked owlishly as the mage’s breathless words finally registered.  “You do… what?”

Anders smiled warmly and squeezed their joined hands.  “In the mortal realm, during one of our handfastings, we say a set of vows, and the other agrees to them.  For instance… I would say,” Anders cleared his throat as an unexpected bout of nerves seized him, the eager way the elf hung on his every word and the rapid beating of his heart telling him that the words he was about to speak were so much more than a simple cultural exchange, “Do you, Fenris, take this man to be your partner in life?  Do you accept me with my faults and strengths, loving what you know of me, and trusting in what you do not yet know?  Do you vow to support me when I am in need, and turn to me for support when you are in need?  Do you swear to hold me in your heart for all our years, and in all that life may bring us?”  Fenris trembled above him, his gaze so intense Anders felt as though he could see straight into the heart of him, and the mage found himself desperately hoping that he wanted all that he found there.  “And- and you would sa-“

“I do!”  Fenris spoke emphatically, a wide smile taking over his features and making Anders’ heart skip a beat.  “ _I do_ Anders.”

“Fenris… husband…” Anders breathed, trying the term on for size and coming up pleasantly surprised with how well it _fit_.  Fenris’ emerald eyes dilated at the sound of his new title on his lover’s lips- his _husband’s_ lips.  Time stilled as their gazes met, so full of love and trust there could be no room left for doubt, passion and desire coiling at the base of their spines like a tightly wound spring… until it finally snapped.

A primal growl issued from deep within Fenris’ chest as he descended to capture the mage’s lips, Anders arching off the bed and reaching for him with his free hand to meet him halfway in a searing embrace.  Fenris shifted his body until he aligned himself perfectly flush against his lover’s, the man’s long legs opening up to welcome him as the elf’s strong lean frame settled between them.  Anders gasped and slid his right hand down the warm olive skin of Fenris’ back, his fingertips caressing and running parallel to the markings that blessedly remained a painless white trail that led him to the waistline of the elf’s tight black leggings.  The mage gripped the firm globes beneath the smooth leather to press their hips together firmly.  A hiss of pleasure issued from both men, escaping kiss swollen lips to mingle with panting breaths as Fenris eagerly obeyed Anders’ wordless suggestion and ground his hips into the mage’s, the other man answering with a buck of his hips in return. 

Anders shivered with want as the hard heated line of Fenris’ growing arousal made contact with his own, the friction created by the layers of clothing between them both tantalizing and endlessly frustrating.  “Fenris… I don’t suppose… your people have heard of a honeymoon?”  He breathed into his husband’s panting mouth, his words quickly swallowed up by kiss after all consuming kiss.

Fenris finally tore himself away from the passionate embrace to bow his head and tease at the tender flesh of the man’s earlobe.  “If it is anything like a consummation ritual… then I believe our cultures have more in common than we previously thought.”  He whispered with a dark chuckle against the rounded shell of Anders’ ear before tracing the fascinating shape with his tongue.

The mage gasped and laughed at the sensual and somewhat ticklish sensation.  “Unless I’m completely misreading the signs… I’m fairly certain we’re on the same page…”

“Just so we’re clear…” Fenris breathed as he raised his head to meet Anders’ gaze, the elf’s words mirroring his lover’s before he had kissed him for the first time, “…I should like to make love to my husband.”

Anders had never much considered himself the marrying sort, but the powerful surge of affection and desire that washed over him to pool and throb in his groin when Fenris called him ‘husband’… “Yes!  Spirits Fenris, _yes_!”  He emphatically replied, his words accompanied by a rather wanton moan that he couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed about.  A contented rumble of pleasure escaped Fenris’ lips when he descended upon him once more, his tongue darting inside Anders’ mouth hungrily.  Anders hooked a leg around one of the elf’s where they rested between his thighs, pressing his knee against Fenris’ firm leather clad buttocks to encourage him closer.  Fenris was only too happy to oblige with a powerful roll of his hips that had them both gasping.

Fenris suddenly rose up to kneel between the mage’s legs, revealing the tented condition of their trousers, the light fabric of the buckskin leggings Anders’ wore to sleep doing nothing to hide the gathering spot of moisture at the tip of the straining fabric.  The lyrium lined fingers of Fenris’ left hand wandered toward the hem of the mage’s light cotton tunic, dirtied and singed in places from his battle mere hours ago, the thin fabric draped loosely over the rapid rise and fall of his lover’s broad chest.  He smirked as his fingertips whispered along the pale skin he found beneath the tunic’s edge, Anders shivering in pleasure beneath his touch as the elf came across the curious texture of a thin stripe of red gold hair, slightly darker and courser than the hair on the mage’s head, starting below his navel and traveling down past the waist of his trousers in a tantalizing path Fenris’ was eager to follow.  He brought their still joined hands up before him, intent on freeing his right hand to join the exploration, when Anders’ free hand caught his wrist.

“No… keep it.”  Anders murmured, his eyes hooded as he gave their joined hands a squeeze, a wicked grin playing at his lips.  Fenris quirked an eyebrow.  It certainly was not customary to leave the handfasting knot on _during_ the consummation… but given the way his filling arousal pulsed at the suggestion… perhaps Anders was onto something.

Before Fenris could bend down to capture his lover’s lips once more, Anders sat up to meet him, his right hand reaching to thread through the elf’s hair and draw him in to a passionate embrace.  Fenris’ chest rumbled with approval at this new development, as it allowed him better access to the mage’s body, his left hand slipping beneath the fall of fabric to run up the smooth warm skin along Anders’ spine.  Both of their free hands, as well as the joined pair, scrambled to grasp the bottom hem of the mage’s tunic and lift it above his head-

“Um- Fenris… we may have to rethink my plan.”  Anders panted from within the tangled mass of cotton raised halfway over his head, his breaths quickly turning into soft laughter.

Fenris smirked as he quickly saw the problem, noting how his right hand joined to his husband’s was about to be pulled through the arm hole of his tunic.  He huffed a laugh of his own as he wordlessly pulled the mage’s tunic back on, stilling his lover’s hand as he reached to remove the loose restraint.  “Let me.”  The elven God whispered against Anders’ lips before claiming them, his sinful velvet voice carrying a playful lilt before the sound of ripping fabric rent the air. 

Anders pulled away with a surprised laugh as he looked down to the jagged tear running down the center of his tunic.  “Fenris!”  His laughter rang out once more as the elf merely smirked and brought his bound right hand up to join his left in tearing along the arm and shoulder of the much abused tunic, the ruined cotton garment fluttering off Anders’ shoulders to pool on the bed behind him.  Fenris casually flung the heap of ragged cotton away and placed a hand on the mage’s chest to gently shove him back onto the rumpled sheets.

“I shall get you a new tunic.”  Fenris mumbled distractedly as he ran both palms across the mage’s chest and along his sides, marveling at the soft curly hairs running between his fingers, dragging Anders’ left hand along on his journey, which he didn’t seem to mind too much if the way he arched up into his lover’s touch was any indication.

“Technically, that tunic came from the wardrobe in my quarters and therefore belonged to you.”  Anders said with a smirk, squirming and gasping when Fenris lightly scraped his blunt fingernails across his chest and gently pulled at the curled golden strands he found there, seemingly fascinated by the difference in their appearance.  The mage certainly couldn’t blame him as he raised the hand not occupied with Fenris’ curious exploration to trace the swirling patterns and fine definition of the elf’s taunt stomach and firm hairless chest, watching appreciatively as the muscles twitched and flexed beneath his fingertips. 

“In that case,” Fenris murmured, smiling against the cool metal of his talisman where it glinted against the mage’s heated skin as he trailed kisses down his neck and sternum, “Perhaps I will not replace it.  I find I rather like the view its absence affords me.”  Anders arched off the bed as Fenris lapped at a dusky pink nipple and took it into his mouth to suck and lightly nip at the tender bud, the sensitive flesh tightening in the cool air as the elf released it to lavish attention on its fellow.

“Does that-“ his words were cut off by a low moan as Fenris continued his journey south, the tip of his tongue following the tantalizing trail of hair beneath his navel, “Ah- does that mean I get to rip up all your tunics?  Because I’m rather enjoying my view as well.”  The elf blinked up at him, the lacing to Anders trousers between his teeth, his ears blushing to their tips.  Anders shook his head with fond exasperation.  Only Fenris could be in the middle of boldly removing his lover’s trousers, _with his teeth_ , and still remain so humbly shy about his own devastating attractiveness.  He reached for him with his free hand, threading the fingers of their joined hands together and tugging him gently in silent entreaty.  Fenris happily followed his lover’s pull to meet his lips in a tender kiss.  “You’re gorgeous love.”

Fenris laughed softly, his cheeks dusted to match his ears.  “I- I know I look strange… but I- I am glad you,” he swallowed thickly, “You find me attractive.”

“Attractive?  That’s it, I’m destroying all your tunics, and then maybe you’ll notice how stunning you are when all the acolytes swoon as you walk past,” Anders smirked and stole a kiss, “Not that they don’t already.  We’ve been taking turns catching each other for a while now.”

The elven God nuzzled his flushed face into the crook of the mage’s neck, reveling in the rough stubble prickling against his cheek as he laughed.  “I would prefer you didn’t destroy my clothing.  It may make my calling somewhat awkward.”  He looked up once more to meet Anders’ golden gaze, his own emerald eyes warm and dancing with mirth.  “However, I think a compromise can be reached.  A no tunic policy in the privacy of our bedchamber perhaps?  Then _I_ can be the one to catch you as you swoon.” 

Anders nearly swooned right there as a certain part of his lover’s statement echoed through him.  “ _Our_ bedchamber?”

“All that is mine is yours Anders,” Fenris smiled softly and touched his forehead to his husband’s, “All that I am is yours.”

Anders’ heart somersaulted in his chest at his husband’s whispered vow, his emerald gaze shining with sincerity.  He surged forward to pull his love into a passionate embrace, suddenly desperate for more of his touch, more of his taste, his shy smiles, his soft rumbling laughter, more of every precious thing that made Fenris who he was that he now offered Anders freely.

Fenris let out a startled gasp as Anders shifted beneath him, his muscles flexing as he rolled them over, his larger frame suddenly braced above him.  “I don't have much to offer.  Not even the shirt on my back anymore,” Anders said with a playful grin, his smile softening and settling into something far more vulnerable as he continued, “But all that I am, my heart, my body, my soul, all of it is yours.  I am yours Fenris.”

“Anders…” Fenris murmured, completely overcome with emotion as he saw the truth of Anders’ words written in his eyes, the ink black pupils nearly swallowing up the shining golden rings encircling them. 

Despite his initial surprise, Fenris took the change in position in stride.  The reserved elven God did not often revel giving up complete control of any situation, intimate or otherwise, but there was a heady feeling in allowing his lover to take the lead, a breathless anticipation in not knowing exactly what would come next, and a comforting certainty that whatever Anders had planned, he would do everything in his power to ensure that Fenris felt comfortable and enjoyed it.  He shifted his legs apart to accommodate the human’s frame above him and was rewarded by the mage grinding his hips down firmly as he bent to place playful nips and open mouthed kisses on his lover’s neck.

Anders smiled against the elf’s racing pulse as he licked and nibbled his way to Fenris’ blushing ear, and the mage took delight in following the delectable flush with his tongue all the way to its graceful point.  Fenris groaned and bucked his hips in approval.  Anders worked his way down Fenris’ throat, teasing at his markings without putting too much pressure on the delicate scars as he kissed and caressed the olive skin between the flowing lines.

The mage’s hands blazed a trail for his mouth to follow as he ran his fingertips teasingly over the elf’s toned chest, smoothing over the firm plains of his pectoral muscles and playing along the gentle peaks and valleys of his ribs as Fenris panted beneath his husband’s touch.  Fenris’ right hand, still bound loosely to Anders’ left, rested around the mage’s wrist as he explored, sometimes gently squeezing in encouragement when his lover touched him somewhere he particularly enjoyed.

Anders smirked as he came to a dark nipple, scraping it lightly with his thumbnail to tease it into firmness before descending upon it with his mouth, his nimble fingers already seeing to the other sensitive bud.  Fenris arched of the bed with a wordless cry of pleasure as Anders played at his body like a well-tuned instrument.

As he ventured lower, the elf’s body fairly vibrating with sensation and arousal, Anders couldn’t help but notice that Fenris was a rather quiet lover.  Other than the occasional quick intake of breath or a soft growl or groan, he remained silent, using instead his hands and body language to confirm he was very much enjoying himself.  Given his reserved and sometimes downright shy nature, the mage supposed it wasn’t too surprising that Fenris wouldn’t scream his pleasure to the rafters, but Anders couldn’t help but see it as a challenge to get his lover to exercise that sinful voice of his a bit more…

A startled gasp that tapered off into a low moan escaped Fenris’ throat as Anders mouthed at the tented fabric of his trousers, the moist heat of the mage’s mouth giving a tantalizing preview of what was to come, followed by the cool night air hitting the wet fabric when he pulled away and sending shivers up his spine.  The blush on the elf’s ears deepened as he quickly bit his knuckle to stifle any further outbursts.

Anders smiled and hummed in pleasure against the clothed bulge, his lips teasing at heated flesh as he whispered, “Mmmm, it’s alright to make noise love.  I love the sound of your voice.”  His right hand took over massaging the elf’s straining member as Anders looked up to meet Fenris’ emerald eyes, heavily dilated and hooded with desire.  “Tell me what feels good… tell me what you want love…”

“I- ah… I want-“ he arched off the bed and into the mage’s large warm hand as he stroked him through the tight leather trousers, another low moan issuing from his lips, “I want you to- in your mouth…”

“To  _what_  love?”  Anders grinned wickedly and ran his tongue along the straining fabric.

Fenris grunted and panted, squirming to get closer as he grasped his lover’s bound hand tightly and fisted the sheets with the other, “Creators you are incorrigible!” 

Anders chuckled and hummed his agreement against the elf’s pulsing need.  “Just so we’re clear.”  He murmured cheekily.

The elf blushed and threw his free arm across his eyes as he breathed, “I- my… my cock… in your mouth…”

The mage didn’t need to be told twice.  He quickly untied the laces of the elf’s trousers and opened them just enough to free his straining erection.  Anders took a moment to appreciate the perfect length and form of Fenris’ throbbing need as it stood proudly between his legs amidst a nest of wiry white hair, a pearly bead of moisture pooling at its tip under the mage’s hooded gaze, before he hungrily descended upon it.  Fenris moaned in earnest as Anders sensuously ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of his impressive length, circling the head of his member when he reached it before taking it into the hot cavern of his mouth.  Fenris surged off the bed and shouted at the sudden onslaught of sensation, his hips bucking up to drive himself deeper into his lover’s mouth.  Anders brought their joined hands to Fenris’ hip, holding him steady while he worked his length at his own pace, teasing his head with tongue and light grazes of teeth before dipping down to take him to the hilt, only to back off once more. 

Fenris’ right hand gripped the mage’s wrist where their hands were joined, his husband’s firm grip anchoring him from flying apart completely under his talented ministrations.  His free hand tangled in the soft red gold strands of hair atop his lover’s head, applying gentle pressure to encourage him as he bobbed up and down between his legs again and again.  As he looked down at the erotic sight of his cock sliding in and out of Anders warm moist mouth, caressed by kiss swollen lips and surrounded by the soft wet walls of the mage’s hollowed cheeks, Fenris felt his balls begin to tighten against his body.  “Anders!  Anders I- I can’t-“ Fenris gasped, his head tossing on the rumbled pillows beneath him as he fought off his climax.

Anders released him with a lewd pop and smiled up at him, his hair disheveled and lips wet with saliva, looking thoroughly debauched.  “Don’t fight it love.  I want to make you come undone... want to taste you.  After all, the night is young.”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow and hauled himself up with a huff to rest upon his elbows and look at the gorgeous mage grinning between his knees.  “It is always night here.”

“ _Exactly_.”  Anders grinned wickedly, and without further ado, bent to take him to the hilt.

The renewed flood of sensation after the brief respite was too much, the soft walls of the mage’s throat constricting around his pulsing cock as Anders hummed with pleasure sending Fenris careening off the edge.  Fenris fell back upon the bed and shouted out hoarsely as his essence flooded from him, his hand wound tight in Anders’ thick beautiful hair as his lover milked him dry.

Anders tenderly licked his lover’s oversensitive flesh clean, Fenris laying panting and sated as he floated down from his high.  The mage caressed the elf’s boneless legs and finally removed the leather leggings entirely, throwing them off the bed to join his ruined tunic.  Anders quirked an eyebrow as he took in the sight of his lover’s body, his olive skin glowing even without the use of his markings as he basked in the afterglow of his release.  “You’re so beautiful love,” he smirked playfully and planted a soft kiss on the elf’s inner thigh, “We may have to extend it to a no trousers policy as well.”

It was as though all of Fenris’ lean toned muscle flexed at once as the elf suddenly sprang up to pounce upon the unsuspecting mage.   Anders laughed joyfully into his husband’s eager kiss as he was tackled backward onto the mattress, his head hanging halfway off the foot of the bed.

“Agreed, starting with yours.”  Fenris murmured between heated kisses, a moan of renewed arousal escaping his lips as he tasted himself on his lover’s tongue. 

In a flurry of tangled limbs and slightly torn fabric, Anders was quickly divested of his trousers to finally free his weeping and neglected erection.  Fenris smirked and gripped his husband’s bound left hand tightly, his own left hand grasping the mage’s long right leg where it bent at the knee and pulled him toward where he kneeled, bunching the sheets beneath Anders’ body as the distance closed between them.  Anders gasped and hissed in pleasure, his head now able to fall back upon the bed once more as Fenris caressed the milky skin between his thighs.

Fenris studied Anders’ exposed body as though it were a fine piece of art, painting wide brush strokes and whirling patterns upon the mage’s skin with his tongue as his fingers found new constellations amidst the freckles that lightly dusted his shoulders and forearms, before finally converging on his lover’s heated length.  He teased at the slit of Anders’ arousal and hummed with desire as the mage trembled and moaned beneath him.  Fenris took him into his mouth, reveling in the solid pulsing weight on his tongue and savoring the salty musk of arousal as he swallowed around his length.  A near constant stream of cursing interspersed with Fenris’ name flowed from Anders’ lips as he writhed on the rumpled sheets, clenching them tight with his free hand while his left held firmly to the elf’s right, the ever-present connection simultaneously keeping him grounded and heightening his pleasure.  Fenris smiled as he pulled away to blow teasingly on the cooling saliva he left behind, and was rewarded by a sharp curse that trailed off into a low moan as the mage bucked his hips.  Anders clearly had no such inhibitions about the noise he made in bed, not that Fenris minded in the least.

“Tell me what you want Anders.  What do you need?”  Fenris murmured in his sensual voice, lowered further by arousal, as he peppered his lover’s trembling thighs with kisses.

“You!  Want you so bad love… Fenris, need you… need you inside me…”

His arousal had already been returning at the sight of Anders squirming enticingly beneath him and the taste of him on his tongue, but at his lover’s breathless request the elf’s dormant cock began to stir in earnest.  Fenris shifted back on the bed toward the headboard, bringing Anders along with him as he had before.  Anders gasped with shocked pleasure, more turned on than he had anticipated at how his slight framed lover was able to so thoroughly manhandle him.  The elf leaned to reach into the end table and draw out a vial of faintly scented rose oil, likely from the very roses that had witnessed one of the precious private moments between them that had helped lead them here.

“Touch yourself, I- I wish to watch.”  Fenris whispered with heated ears, only stammering slightly on the rather bold command.

His boldness was rewarded by a wicked smile from Anders as he brought not his free hand to his straining erection, but their joined pair.  Anders hissed with pleasure as he wrapped his hand around his length and began to slowly stroke himself with confident familiarity, Fenris’ captive hand laying atop the mage’s, learning his motions and sharing in the pleasure they bestowed.  Fenris uncorked the vial of oil with his teeth and poured a generous amount upon the mage’s puckered entrance, the fingers of his free hand catching the viscous liquid and slicking them before caressing and teasing the tight and twitching hole. 

Anders gasped and closed his eyes, his head thrown back as a single fingertip slowly breached him.  His hand stilled on his member momentarily as he concentrated on the exquisite sensation of his lover entering him, the sharp sting of discomfort mingling with the heady feeling of fullness as his finger slowly inched inside.  It had been a very long time since Anders had shared this part of himself, and even though it would likely mean a bit more pain, the mage would revel in it if it meant feeling the throbbing of Fenris’ heartbeat in his very core as he buried himself inside of him.

As Fenris slowly stretched Anders’ tight entrance, he watched enraptured as his every touch and gesture caused a strong reaction in the man writhing beneath him.  With every hiss and gasp, every shiver and moan, Fenris’ arousal filled to bob proudly between his legs once more.  A soft moan escaped his lips as he watched his finger disappearing over and over inside the tight heat of the mage’s body, anticipating the exquisite sensation clenching around his cock.  He teased a second finger around his lover’s slowly relaxing entrance, and at Anders’ whispered pleas and permissions, Fenris slid it inside.

The mage gasped and bucked his hips into his grip as Fenris’ seeking fingers found his prostate.  “Yes… there… Fenris… _fuck_ …”  He muttered, an endless stream of encouragement tumbling from his panting lips as Fenris scissored his fingers to deftly brush against the bundle of nerves nearly every time.  Anders’ hand shifted from his throbbing cock to his balls beneath it, his fingers alternating between fondling the swollen sack and gently tugging on it when they threatened to tighten, keeping himself teetering on the edge as Fenris’ bound hand took up the task of stroking him with practiced motions.

By the time a third finger had been added, Anders raised his free hand to still Fenris’ attentions on his aching cock, clamping his fingers tight around the base as he tugged his tensing sack away from his body, the sharp edge of pain just enough to chase off his climax.  “Fenris… please… I can’t… need you…”  Anders breathed, some distant part of him knowing how completely wrecked he sounded before the elf had even truly begun, though he couldn’t find it in him to give a single fuck.

Fenris smirked and lifted the mage’s right leg to drape over his shoulder, placing a pillow underneath his lover’s hips before lowering him to rest before his reawakened arousal.  He slicked his length with more oil and met Anders’ amber eyes, and at the needy whimper that escaped the mage’s lips as the elf gently pressed his swollen head against his stretched hole, Fenris slowly sheathed himself inside his husband.

Anders bit his lip and arched off the bed as his lover entered him inch by inch, the slow burning stretch of being filled by the man he loved an exquisite torture he would gladly endure.  He moaned low in his throat as Fenris settled himself deep inside, Anders’ breath catching as the head of his husband’s heated cock brushed that special spot deep inside him.  Spirits it felt even better than he had imagined, the elf’s length throbbing in a pulsing rhythm to match his racing heart as they became one in body, heart and soul.  “Fenris… love…”

“I love you Anders… so much… I cannot conve-“ his words faltered as he began to move his hips, the tight heat of the mage’s body seeming to pull him back in every time he slowly rocked against him, “I… _Anders_ …”

“Don’t have to… I know love…” Anders said breathlessly, nearly bending himself in half as he reached up with his unbound hand to pull his lover in to a searing kiss, their foreheads pressed together and eyes locked as they pulled away, their panting breaths mingling as Fenris gripped the mage’s hip with their joined hands and started thrusting in earnest. 

Anders moaned and fell back upon the bed, his hand slipping away to tangle in the crumpled bedding as Fenris set a slow and steady rhythm of deep even thrusts, his cock hitting his prostate consistently, until the faint pain of being entered was nothing but a pleasant memory.  They needed no more words then, the urges of their bodies instead telling them what to do.  Fenris smiled and kissed the mage’s knee where it rested on his shoulder as he settled it to hook more securely around him and allow him to penetrate deeper.  The wet sounds of slapping flesh and the gentle creaking of the bed filled the room, peppered with soft gasps and breathy moans that steadily grew in intensity as Fenris’ pace increased.

A rumbled growl of arousal issued from Fenris’ chest as he shifted to straddle the mage’s leg that was still on the bed and grip the one slung over his body with both hands, the slight twist of Anders’ body allowing for a deeper connection.  The elf’s hips sped up, his throbbing arousal pumping in and out of Anders’ heated channel in deep rapid bursts, barely leaving the mage’s body before hitting home again and again.  Anders’ breath came out in one seemingly continuous moan, his hand tightening on the elf’s bound wrist as his pleasure spiraled higher and higher like the glittering crystal stairways his lover had described, past the clouds that held an ancient elven city that foolishly didn’t want this amazing man, and straight into the heavens as stars danced before his eyes.

“Fen- I- ah- I’m going to-“ Anders keened, his free hand scrabbling for purchase on any part of his husband he could reach.

Fenris released the mage’s leg and moved to settle between his lover’s legs once more, Anders’ long limbs quickly wrapping around his waist as they rocked together.  Anders was so close, his thighs trembling around him as he moaned with wanton abandon, and Fenris certainly wasn’t far behind, just a _bit_ more… “Anders,” he breathed, bringing their joined hands to clasp the silver owl talisman around the mage’s neck, “Call my name.”

Anders tangled the fingers of his free hand through the elf’s sweat dampened white hair and kissed him soundly.  “But won’t it- ah!” he gasped as Fenris’ free hand circled his throbbing cock trapped between their bodies and stroked him in time with the rapid thrusts of his hips, “Won’t it hurt?”

“My- ah… my _true_ name… please…” Fenris panted, his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against his lover’s.

Anders put his misgivings aside, trusting in his lover completely, as he clenched the talisman tight with Fenris’ lyrium lined fingers intertwined with his and whispered, “ _Fenris_.”

The room lit up an ethereal blue as Fenris moaned in bliss, a wave of pleasure and warmth washing over him and sending him tumbling off the precipice, taking Anders along with him.  Anders shouted and gripped his lover’s hair as his release exploded from him, thick ropes of cum painting both their heaving chests as Fenris flooded him with his hot seed.  Both men shuddered with pleasure as they rode out their orgasms, Fenris’ hips giving a few slow languid thrusts before gently pulling out of his lover’s body.  They were covered in sweat and their own seed, and the bed was more or less destroyed, but Fenris couldn’t bring himself to care as he collapsed in a sated heap atop his husband, sighing contentedly as he nuzzled the crook of his neck and planted soft tired kisses against his gradually slowing pulse. 

A comfortable silence settled over them like a warm blanket, the only sounds breaking it being the gentle crackling and popping of the dwindling fire in the hearth, and the sound of kisses and soft huffs of laughter as the pair snuggled and caressed, safe and content in each other’s arms.  However, the silence was soon broken by an unexpected sound.

_Grrrrrrrrr_

Fenris raised himself to rest upon his elbow and look down at his rapidly blushing lover, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.  “Anders… was that your stomach?”

Anders laughed sheepishly.  “Sorry.  I guess I need to refuel after you wore me out.”

“Not to mention all the energy it must have taken healing me last night.”  The elf smiled softly and shared a lingering kiss with his love, “What do you say we get cleaned up, and then we shall break our fast together?”

“What a clever husband I have.”  Anders whispered, his amber eyes dancing with mirth and happiness.  They met for another languid kiss, seemingly in no hurry to put Fenris’ clever plan into action, the mage murmuring against his lover’s lips as they pulled away, “Then perhaps after breakfast, we can have dessert… maybe share an apple.”

Fenris froze above him, the color bleeding from his face as his eyebrows furrowed.  “No Anders.”

Anders’ heart sped in rising panic as the elf’s expression hardened, his lover Fenris slipping away to be replaced by the stern countenance of the Dread Lord Falon’Din.  “Fenris… you’re joking… right?”  He said with a nervous laugh, his hand shaking slightly as he reached to caress Fenris’ cheek.

The elven God closed his eyes and pulled away, his frame tense as he sat up and turned his back to sit on the edge of the bed, his right arm stretched behind him, his wrist still connected by a tenuous thread to Anders’.  “I am not.”  He said softly, his voice tight and heavy with sadness.

“Funny,” Anders scoff with a humorless laugh, his brow settling into a determined line, “I seem to remember you saying something about everyone here making the choice to eat the apple once they knew the price.  Does that choice extend to everyone but me?!”

“Yes.”

“Damn it Fenris talk to me!”  The mage sat up and attempted to turn the elf’s body to face him, but Falon’Din remained obstinately still.  “I want to stay with you!  I want to build a life with my husband, so it might be nice if we lived in the same sodding realm!”  Tears gathered in his eyes as a horrible thought occurred.  “Or was all that just a game to you?  Just pretty words to get what you wanted?!”

Fenris turned devastated emerald eyes toward him, glittering with tears and burning with anger.  “How dare you?”  He hissed, a tear falling as he shook with emotion, “That you could think I could ever, would ever-“ Fenris turned away once more, his head bent as tears flowed freely down his cheeks, “I meant every word of my vows to you.  There will never be another for me Anders.  You are my one, my only… my _everything_.”

Anders’ anger was dampened by the tears he saw dripping slowly from his lover’s chin in profile, tears borne of anguish that matched his own.  “Then why send me away?”  He asked in a shuddered breath, his fingertips hesitantly caressing his husband’s hand, bound to his... for what he thought would be all time.

“What we shared was not a game… but a dream.  A pleasant dream that I shall cherish always, but one we must now both wake from.”  The elf sighed heavily, as if to fortify himself against the pain his words caused him to utter.  “You do not belong here Anders.  You said it yourself, this is a cold and dreary realm that never sees the sun, our feelings will not change that, and you deserve so much better.  You deserve the sunlight on your face and green grass beneath your feet.  You deserve a long fulfilling life, a- a wife,” Fenris’ voice cracked, but he pressed on, “Children to teach and share your boundless love with.  You have so much to give, it is selfish to want to keep you here, bound and caged at the whim of a spoiled Dread Lord.”

“Dread Lord my arse!  The only thing that’s selfish is to try and make my decisions for me!  I don’t want sunshine and flowers and a bloody wife and kids, I want _you_!”  Anders insisted passionately.

“You may feel that way now... but forever is a long time Anders.  Eventually you would tire of this place, this half-life I would doom you to, and you would grow to resent me.  It breaks my heart to see you leave, but it- it would _end_ me to have you come to hate me.”  The elven God’s jaw tensed as he continued, trying in vain to steel his heart even as it shattered, “If a flower is put inside a box, it will brighten the interior and lighten the hearts of all who see it, but in the deprivation of all that it needs to thrive, it will wither and perish.”

“Damn it Fenris!  I’m not a flower or a caged bird or a bloody ray of sunshine!”

“No, you are my husband, my love, my heart… and I would sooner die than see you suffer in this place.”  Fenris said with a resigned calm, his closed eyes doing nothing to stem the steady flow of silent tears.

The mage bit his lip in an effort to cease its trembling before he voiced a new and very valid concern, “Fenris, what if something like yesterday happens again?  What if I’m not here and- and-“ he squeezed his lover’s hand tightly as he fought to compose himself.

“I shall always be grateful for what you did for me, how you saved me… but it is only treating the symptom, not the cause.  We elves made many mistakes with the Shemlen of the north, we came to them in splendor and glory while they peeked out from their tents in fear and awe, and we gave them just the barest glimpse of what their magic could be and left them to their own devices.  It is no surprise that they would see all that we had made over countless centuries and want it for themselves… whatever the cost.  The Shemlen will not listen to us, or perhaps _should_ not, but you…”

“You expect me to go to the north?!”

“No!” Fenris gasped in panic, his frame tensing before he forced himself to breathe deep and relax a small fraction, “No, it is far too dangerous.  However, it sounds as though the mages in the south are in need of an advocate, a voice to speak for them, to show people that magic is not to be feared if used wisely and without malice… to show them it can _heal_.”  Fenris smiled sadly, “I have been accused of being quite stubborn, so if you were able to change my mind so thoroughly, I have no doubt of all you could accomplish.  Perhaps you can succeed where we could not, and perhaps… perhaps someday the world will be a safe place for people like you and I to be together.”

Anders’ first instinct was to argue, to fight back and follow his heart at any and all costs, but as he thought on Fenris’ words, the more truth he saw in them.  He was likely the only mage in the south experienced and knowledgeable enough to teach others, and the fact that he was a healer would help endear him to those that were frightened of his gifts.  Magic manifesting among his kin was unlikely to stop, and helping them be accepted while teaching them not to make the same mistakes, nor commit the same atrocities as their brethren in the north was a worthy goal.  He may well be able to make headway where the elves had not, and at the end of it all, his actions would help ease Fenris’ burden.  It made sense, but as he glimpsed his lover, his head hung low and tear streaks staining his cheeks, a small selfish part of him couldn’t help but wish the task could fall to someone else, someone who didn’t have a weary elven God to hold in his arms and remind that he was worthy of happiness and love.  “Why _me_?”  Anders breathed, the quiet lament escaping him as he marveled at how unfair life could be.

Fenris turned his head and met his eyes, the fathomless emerald depths holding a sad and profound understanding as he answered softly, “Because _someone_ must.”

The mage’s heart broke for Fenris then, as he imagined a lonely young man asking himself why he alone possessed the power to walk the shifting paths, why it must be _him_ to shoulder this terrible burden.  Fenris was asking no more of him than what he expected of himself… and Anders would not disappoint him.

Tears flowed down his cheeks and blurred his sight as Anders reached for the handfasting knot that bound their hearts, his fingers fumbling until he found the place it had been tied off.  He pulled the knot loose and felt his heart shatter as the elaborate knot unraveled before him.  Fenris gasped, a soft sob finally escaping him as he brought his right hand up to clasp his naked wrist, as though he might convince himself it was still there if he closed his eyes. 

The elf made to stand, but was stopped by a strong arm wrapping around his waist to hold him tight.  “Where do you think you’re going?”  Anders whispered in a shaking voice from his spot behind his lover, his head resting on the elf’s shoulder as he brought the long leather strip to his teeth and broke off a smaller piece.  Fenris blinked as Anders’ hands moved, too overcome with heartbreak to do little more than lean back into his lover’s chest in a desperate bid to feel his solid warmth for even one more moment.  “Tie this.”  The mage murmured, a finger held in place above a small loop of leather around the finger beside his pinky on his left hand. 

Fenris’ hands moved automatically to tie a knot gently around the digit. “Anders- wha-“

“This is where we wear our handfast after the ceremony.  Now hold still,” Anders said softly as he took hold of Fenris’ right hand and looped the leather tie around his wrist, “You’ll have to teach me how to make your fancy elven knot, but in the meantime…” the mage cursed as his slightly trembling fingers tied the leather strip in a lopsided bow, only to untie it and repeat the imperfect knot, “Bugger… wait…”

A soft smile curled Fenris’ lips as he gently laid his hand atop Anders’, stilling his third attempted lopsided bow.  “It is _perfect_ Anders.”

“Fenris, if I-“ Anders pressed a watery smile into his lover’s neck, tears prickling at his eyes, “If I am to go back, we can’t waste a single precious moment we have left together… my beloved husband.”

Just when Fenris had thought it was not possible for him to love this man any more than he already did, Anders once again proved him wrong.  Fenris laced their fingers together and held Anders’ arms against him tightly, tears escaping his eyes as his heart overflowed with a joy so bittersweet it ached, reveling in every second of his husband’s warm embrace.

 

* * *

 

And so they bathed and broke their fast together, took all their meals together, all their spare moments, as much of a lifetime as they could fit into three short days of endless night.  They filled their hours with meandering walks through the garden hand in hand, sleepy conversations wrapped in one another’s arms as they fought to stay awake and deny another day had passed... racing hearts and whispered endearments as they made love beneath the stars.

All too soon, the moons hung heavy and full in the sky, and at long last, it was time for Anders to return to the mortal realm…


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo… I may have accidentally headcanoned the beginnings of a side pairing off camera. Sorry not sorry <3

Anders swallowed thickly and pulled his hand out of his satchel with a heavy sigh, confirming for the umpteenth time that everything he owned was there.  He huffed a laugh as he noted that nearly everything he carried had been a gift from the many friends he’d made here; several fine new tunics and trousers Fenris had insisted he take, fresh honey cakes from Adanna and the kitchen staff, a fine lute from Orana strung across his back beside his beloved staff that Dirthamen had given him… plus an Elvish language primer book that he _may_ have nicked from his quarters.  It was everything he should need, more than enough… yet he couldn’t help but wish for the one thing he couldn’t have.

He shook his head and forced a smile onto his features as he took his last look around the enchanted orchard and took in its unearthly beauty one last time.  It was fitting his journey would end here, seeing as this place had been the site of many firsts.  The first time Falon’Din called him by name, the first time he invoked Fenris’ true name, the first time he heard Fenris laugh freely, the first time they kissed.  _Spirits I’m going to miss this place, these people… my husband._

“You mustn’t scratch at it Master Dirthamen!  You will only make it worse!”

Anders gasped and quickly stepped behind a glowing apple tree, peering curiously between leafy branches at the approaching forms of Orana and Dirthamen.  His eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise as Orana gently slapped the Deity’s hand away from where it fussed at the scar across his eye, the girl bringing a cool damp cloth to the damaged flesh instead. 

“But it itches so.”  Dirthamen pouted, seemingly not bothered in the least by Orana’s bold fussing over him.

The girl bit her lip as her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “I am sure it does.”

Dirthamen smirked, and Anders strained his ears to hear his whispered words, “But it makes me look rather dashing, does it not?”

“It makes you look a great fool, attacking Master Anders as you did!  The itching serves you right!” Dirthamen quirked an amused eyebrow and Orana’s fingers fumbled slightly, a blush rising to her ears as she muttered hastily, “M-Master Dirthamen.”

“Such insolence Orana!  Anders has clearly been a bad influence on you.”  Dirthamen teased with a warm chuckle.  Orana brought her eyes to the ground quickly and made to bend into a deep bow, only to be stopped by the elven God’s fingertips gently touching her chin and raising her gaze to meet his, a soft warm smile on his lips.  “I would have you know a secret Orana, I am not at all opposed to a bit of bad influence from time to time, and I dare say you have been an excellent influence on him in return… just as you are on me.”

Anders’ jaw nearly hit the floor as Orana smiled shyly, a blush spreading prettily to color her cheeks and match the flush appearing on the tips of Dirthamen’s ears.  “When did _this_ happen?”  The mage wondered aloud with a grin, the more he tried imagining the sweet but surprisingly strong Orana keeping the mischievous God in line, the more the picture came perfectly into focus.

“The Shemlen pet would never spy!  Never snoop in the Master’s affairs!”

The mage’s heart nearly stopped as Deceit crowed his warning smugly before fluttering down from a higher branch to perch upon his shoulder and nuzzle against him affectionately.  “Oh don’t you try and butter me up right after ratting me out Feather Duster, and you were snooping too!”  Anders groused, even as his hand raised to stroke his inky black beard of feathers.

“Master Anders!”  Orana gasped as she hurried toward the mage, instantly forgetting about the compromising position she had been caught in at the sight of her dear friend.  Anders gave Dirthamen an apologetic smile, the bemused Deity sending him a grin and shrug in return before he slowly made his way over to join them.  Deceit flapped away noisily to join his Master, and the mage soon found the wind knocked out of him when Orana flew to his side and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle.  “Oh Master Anders, we did not realize you had arrived!  Forgive me for not greeting you… especially-“ Anders smiled sadly and warmly returned her embrace as the girl began sniffling and quaking in his arms, “E-especially when you are leaving so soon.”

“It’s alright Orana, there is still time enough to say goodbye.”

“Yes, though I wish I did not have to… I wish you did not have to go.”  She murmured sadly, her face buried in his chest.

Anders raised his hand to stroke her hair gently, “I wish I didn’t have to leave either, but… but it’s for the best.”  He closed his eyes and placed a kiss upon her temple.  “I love you as a sister Orana, and I will miss you terribly.”

Orana’s big green eyes glittered with tears as she raised her face to meet him.  “I love you too Master Anders!  I shall miss you so!  I shall pray for you every day that the Creators keep you safe, even if you are a Shemlen!”

The mage laughed softly and tucked a fly away lock of hair behind the delicate point of the girl’s ear.  “Thank you Orana.  I am sure they will make an exception if someone as sweet as you asks.”

“You flatter me Master Anders.”  She blushed and halfheartedly swatted at his chest in embarrassment.

“I am inclined to agree with him,” Dirthamen said casually as he walked up to meet them, “But I shall join you in your prayers all the same.”

Orana jumped and blushed as the God’s rough baritone sounded behind her, “Oh- I- thank you Master Dirthamen.”  She murmured, her breath catching as he gently wiped a lingering tear from her cheek.  The girl gave a wide eyed flustered bow and quickly scurried out of ear shot to give them privacy to say their goodbyes.

Anders quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms sternly, “As her self-appointed brother, I feel an overwhelming urge to ask what your intentions are.”

A self-deprecating smirk twitched to the elf’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair and spoke candidly.  “My intentions… Orana and I have been spending time together more frequently this past fortnight while my brother has been… occupied, and it has only recently come to my attention that I in fact  _have_ intentions.  Be that as it may, I can assure you that they are honorable.”

“It hardly seems appropriate that she call you Master…” Anders muttered with a frown.

Dirthamen met his eyes and nodded sincerely, “I agree.  I would never express my intentions until she is able to see herself as my equal.  It will take time… for both of us, but we certainly have no shortage of it here.”

“True enough,” Anders said with a huffed laugh, his stern countenance fading as he favored Dirthamen with a fond smile, “Alright then, I suppose you have my blessing.”

The elven God sighed heavily as the tension bled from his frame, “I thank you, though I must say I am sad to have missed my opportunity to have given you such an interrogation before you managed to sweep my brother off his feet.”  Dirthamen replied with a teasing smirk.

“To be fair, Fenris certainly did his share of the sweeping too.”  Anders admitted with a faint chuckle, color rising to his cheeks.

“Of that I have no doubt.  He was smitten with you from the moment he first glimpsed you as you saved that woman and her child.”  He winked conspiratorially, his emerald eyes filled with mirth, “I’ll have you know I wouldn’t bother to kidnap just _anyone_.  My brother has chosen his partner well.”  Dirthamen’s expression sobered as he grasped the mage’s shoulder, “Your absence here will be keenly felt Anders.  I shall truly miss you.”

“And I you Dirthamen.  Thank you for teaching me, for being a friend, for- for bloody kidnapping me!”  Anders held out his hand with a bright smile, “Just, _thank you_.”

Dirthamen’s eyes lit up as he eagerly clasped the mage’s hand and shook vigorously, “I had so hoped I would be offered one of these famous ‘hand shakes’ I have heard so much about!”  Their hands slowed, but Dirthamen did not release him as he continued with a sly grin, “But tell me, is this how you Shemlen embrace your family before a long journey… brother?”

Anders laughed and pulled the elf into a fierce hug, tears stinging his eyes at the sheer depth of love he felt for his new family that he would have to leave behind in mere moments.

“Ahem… do you two need a moment?”  A warm gravelly voice deadpanned from somewhere over his shoulder, his sensuous voice accompanied by-

“Spirits Fenris, you actually got a bell!”  Anders released his brother-in-law from his embrace and turned to face his husband with a wide smile.  Fenris quirked an eyebrow and wordlessly held up his right hand, his lopsided handfast bow still tied firmly around his wrist, and tied within it… a tiny silver bell.  Anders smiled brightly and swept his lover into his arms, laughing as he captured Fenris’ smirking lips.

“The Shemlen pet will forget all about us, never think on us again, leave us forever and never come back!” 

“We hate the Shemlen pet!  We hope he never returns!”

The lovers pulled away at the melancholy mutterings of Fear and Deceit respectively, a fond smirk on Anders’ lips even as Fenris rolled his eyes.  “Go on, there is still some time yet.”  Fenris whispered with a crooked grin, never failing to be amazed at the mage’s endless capacity to love.

Anders caressed Fenris’ face before turning to smile at the two birds chittering anxiously on their Master’s shoulders.  “Come on then-“ the ravens had fluttered to his shoulders before he could finish his sentence.  The mage looked to each and stroked their feathered breasts as he spoke, “I could never forget you Fear, and I will miss you very much.  I’ll even miss you Feather Duster.” 

Anders blinked as Fear reached to pluck out a long black tail feather and poke him with it gently on the cheek until he took it in his hand.  “You shall never be overcome by fear on your journey.”  She whispered before fluttering to Dirthamen’s shoulder and hiding in his dark hair.

The mage took a feather from Deceit as well as he croaked, “You shall always fall prey to lies and treachery on your journey.”  He then flapped away to land upon his Master’s shoulder with a final caw.

Dirthamen smiled and placed his hands upon his beloved familiars.  “We have taken enough of Anders’ time, now we shall let him say goodbye to Lord Falon’Din in privacy.”  He met Anders’ eyes and smiled, “Fair you well Anders…” he turned and walked toward where Orana waited on the outskirts of the orchard, a secretive smirk upon his lips as he murmured, “…until we meet again.”

Anders gasped in pleasant surprise as Fenris stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around him tightly, his forehead pressed against his spine as he breathed in his scent.  “It is fortunate that we chose this as your departure point, otherwise the entirety of the manor would be out to see you off.”  Fenris murmured with a faint laugh.

The mage turned in his love’s embrace and buried his face in the crook of his neck with a sigh.  “I’m sorry love, there just-“ his voice wavered slightly as he tightened his grip, “There just isn’t enough time, there never will be.”

“Do not apologize for being well loved Anders, I certainly cannot blame them.”

Anders pulled away, his golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears.  “I don’t suppose it’s not too late to talk you into letting me stay?”

“Please Anders, do not tempt me,” Fenris whispered, his gaze filled with sad longing as he cradled his lover’s stubbled jaw, “I do not know that I would be strong enough to refuse you now… and we both know that this is how it must be.”

“I know,” the mage peppered butterfly kisses across his husband’s features, committing every inch of skin to memory as a tear escaped his eye, “I _know_.  I just- I love you so much Fenris.”

“And I love you Anders, more than I have words to say.”

They surged together as one to meet in a passionate kiss, the men pouring as much love and affection and powerful longing as they could into the fleeting embrace.  Anders cursed his need to breathe as they reluctantly pulled away, their lips meeting briefly again and again between panting breaths as their last precious moments ticked away. 

Fenris’ markings suddenly pulsed faintly, the elven God’s frame tensing with a soft hiss.  “The sun will soon rise in the mortal realm.  It is time Anders.”

Anders swallowed down his heartache, determined to be strong for his love, and nodded.  Fenris silently reached for the mage’s staff and lute and slung them across his own back.  “Fenris, that’s sweet love, but I can carry my own-ah!”  His words were cut off by a surprised gasp as Fenris placed an arm behind his shoulders and bent to sweep the other behind his knees to deftly lift him off the ground.  “What are you doing Fenris?!  Spirits I’m a head taller than you!”  Anders squawked, his arms and legs flailing as he suddenly found himself upended into Fenris’ leanly muscled arms.

“…and?”  The elf replied dryly.

Anders couldn’t help but laugh as he playfully shoved himself back to look incredulously at his lover.  “Fenris put me down!”

“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do Anders.  There are certain standards we must uphold.”  Fenris spoke matter-of-factly, a faint smirk playing at his lips, “After all, you _were_ abducted and made the unwilling bride of the Dread Lord Falon’Din.”

The mage huffed and crossed his arms, his cheeks heating rapidly.  “I’m not even going to bother pointing out all that is wrong with that statement.”

Fenris laughed warmly against the shell of Anders’ ear.  “Then perhaps I simply wish to hold you.”  Anders’ amber eyes softened as they met his husband’s gaze.  “Humor me?”

Anders smiled and rolled his eyes, resigning himself to his fate as he wrapped his arms around Fenris’ strong shoulders and tucked his face against his neck.  “You are ridiculous.”  The mage whispered, pressing his smiling lips to the elf’s fluttering pulse.

Falon’Din’s markings shone bright as he took a deep breath, tightened his hold on his lover, and stepped into the shifting paths.

The trip took both an eternity and no time at all, the swirling shadows and trails of light that flowed and blended together faster than the mage could blink were at once beautiful and terrifying.  Anders shivered as he felt the cold vacuum press in on him from all around, the only sound to be heard the frantic pounding of his heart.  Fenris held him tight against him and smiled down to whisper as he flew along the paths only he could see, “You are safe, I have you my love.”

Anders smiled and closed his eyes, focusing on the steady beating of his husband’s heart, his strong arms holding him, his scent, his warmth…

At long last, and all too soon, Fenris slowed and stilled to stand before a shimmering curtain that revealed a wavering view of the mortal realm.  Fenris gently set Anders to his feet and outfitted him with his belongings, the bright glow of his markings holding the cold swirling shadows at bay.  Just as the Veil began to open, Anders grabbed his hands tight and spoke rapidly, “Fenris, wait!  Once I step through, you won’t be able to understand me any longer will you?”

“I will not, but we have said our farewells my love, the Veil will thicken soon, you must go!”  Fenris urged, despite his hands clasping Anders’ just as tightly.

“When it's my time to walk the shifting paths, if I call you… will you come for me?  Will you lead me, even though I’m not one of your people?”  The mage murmured, biting his lip as his heart raced.

“You _are_ my people Anders.  You are my heart, and _nothing_ could keep me from you if you call to me.”  Fenris breathed passionately before reaching up to draw the mage into a final heartbreaking kiss.  The elven God whispered against his husband’s lips as he reluctantly pulled away, “You must go Anders.”

To Fenris’ surprise, a mischievous smile rose to Anders’ lips as he whispered.  “Good, I just wanted to make sure.”  He released his husband’s hands to caress his cheek tenderly, “And for the record, I _did_ warn you I was terrible at following orders.”

Anders suddenly smiled and stepped backward through the part in the Veil, and as it began to seal shut, he reached into his satchel to pull out an object and toss it to his lover.  Fenris caught the item on reflex and blinked, his eyebrows furrowing even as his heart sped to race and soar, as he looked down to see a lyrium apple glowing brightly in his hands… a single bite missing from the enchanted fruit.


	15. Epilogue

_Six months later_

Anders sighed contentedly as he finished the last set of instructions, this one for a potent anti-inflammatory that was surprisingly easy to brew.  He carefully placed the sheet together with the rest of the recipes and notes he had collected for his apprentice and tied the ribbon that bound the pages together.  Bethany was a clever girl who showed great promise with Spirit healing, could shoot a mean fireball, and had two brothers that would do anything to protect her.  She was well on her way to becoming a capable healer and mage, and the small southern village of Lothering seemed to have accepted her and her gifts… she would be fine without him.

He reached to the cabinet of potions and poultices and absently began tidying them, his hands searching for something to do as he waited for night to fall.  As much as he had argued and fussed about it, when Anders reflected on the last six months and all that had transpired, the mage had to admit that Fenris had been right.  As tempting as the prospect was, and as much as he longed for his husband’s embrace nearly every waking moment, deep down Anders knew that he never would have been fulfilled living as the pampered house husband of an elven God.  As painful as it had been, as it _still_ was, to be apart from his love, it had lightened his heart to find more of ‘his people’ amongst the village he found himself in. 

The Hawke family was brash and loud, dysfunctional and stubborn, but fiercely loyal and utterly charming all the same.  Bethany was sweet and even tempered, but possessed a strength of Spirit that would not back down in the face of injustice or wrongdoing.  She had said he reminded her of her late father, a mage that had managed to survive childhood and even raise a family before passing, and Anders had been deeply touched, even if it did make him feel rather old.  Her twin brother Carver was as surly as his sister was sweet, but he was not a cruel man, and was incredibly protective of his family.  And their older brother Garrett, _Spirits_ that man.  He was gregarious and clever, with a sharp tongue and the uncanny ability to drink anyone under the table, Anders unfortunately included.  Garrett was a handful, but his devotion to his family and unconditional acceptance of his sister’s gift was more than Anders could have asked for.  Meeting and befriending the Hawke clan had renewed Anders’ faith in his race.

The mage’s hand quaked violently as deep fissures rippled across his skin, the cracked pattern shining brilliant blue for a brief painful moment.  Anders barely stopped a potion bottle from toppling to the ground as he reached with his other hand to steady himself on his staff, the two enchanted raven’s feathers tied to the end fluttering faintly with the motion.  The pulses of lyrium inside him had been plaguing him more frequently and with greater intensity of late.  Anders wondered idly if he had taken too large a bite, as gauging the perfect amount of magical lyrium apple to eat was hardly an exact science, but half a year seemed long enough.  Enough time to build a clinic, teach a mage… change stubborn hearts and minds.  Enough time to miss his husband as much as he could stand.

As Fenris had said, Anders’ time in Setheneran had been a dream, a memory so blissful that Anders sometimes doubted himself as to whether it had truly happened.  The constant presence of the leather band tied around his finger and the solid weight of his lover’s talisman on his chest became his lifelines, proof that somewhere beyond the Veil, through shapeless worlds and airless skies, there was a man who loved him and longed for him just as desperately.  His life there had been a dream, one that he had needed to wake from to accomplish anything meaningful for his fellow human mages… Anders smiled and clenched his husband’s talisman as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon… but there was nothing wrong with having a pleasant reoccurring dream.

“Fenris, love.  I need you… I need you to guide me home.”

Anders froze and strained his ears for any sound, trained his eyes for any motion, any brief flash of blue.  Nothing but the chilled wind answered.  His heart sped in rising panic as the moment stretched on into the fledgling night.  _Perhaps he can’t understand me?_   Anders thought with growing worry, clinging to the vestige of hope as he fumbled for his Elvish primer.  He was quite possibly even more rubbish speaking the lovely flowing language than he was playing the bloody lute, but if his fumbling attempts could reach Fenris-

His breath caught in his throat and the book tumbled from his hands as the gentle tinkling of a bell reached his ears.  The mage’s eyes watered with tears of joy as the room lit up with blinding light.  Suddenly the Dread Lord Falon’Din, Anders’ beloved husband, stood before him.  Time froze as their eyes met, and suddenly Anders was afraid, not of Fenris, _never_ of him, but of the vast time and distance that spanned between them, even as they stood only paces apart.  _Spirits, what if Fenris has moved on, what if he’s decided it was all a mistake, just a foolish bit of whimsy that he would rather put behind him?  What if-_

The elven God’s emerald eyes softened, his gaze flitting to the book upon the floor as a soft smile twitched to his lips.  Anders stared dumbfounded, afraid to even breathe and somehow banish the beautiful figment before him, as Fenris crouched down to pick up the language primer and place it in his husband’s lax grip.  “Anders,” he breathed, his voice rumbling warmly from his chest to shake Anders’ very soul, “I- I am being… m-missing you, love of my heart.”  Fenris murmured in a thickly accented Shemlen tongue, his ears blushing self-consciously as he gave his lover a shy smile.

A brilliant smile dawned on the mage’s face to burn brighter than the sun, its radiance easily outshining the twin full moons that hung in the sky.  “Fenris,” Anders gasped, a laugh of relief, of _joy_ , bubbling up as he looked into his lover’s eyes.  Anders’ heart fluttered as he set out to show his husband that he hadn’t been the only one studying, “Ghillana arla'ver- no, _bugger_ \- arla’ _var_ , emma lath.”

Fenris huffed a soft laugh, confirming for Anders that he had likely made some sort of grievous conjugation error, but his grammar was the last thing on his mind as his husband pulled him down into an earth-shattering kiss.  As Anders wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him close, it was as though they had never parted, the span of time and distance, even the different languages they tasted on one another’s tongues, all of it fell away as their hearts beat together as one.  When the lovers finally parted from the heated embrace, Fenris smirked mischievously up into his lover’s golden eyes and sprang into action.

Anders’ laughter rang out clear and bright as his husband scooped him up to hold him tightly in his arms, the elven God’s markings flaring bright as he stepped through the parted Veil.

 

_._

_._

_._

 

_And so it is said Da’len, that Anders travels the world in the spring and summer, when the sun can shine warm and bright upon his face once more, his body never aging due to the single bite he took from the enchanted apple in Falon’Din’s orchard.  He teaches the Shemlen mages of the south Sylaise’s gift to entreat the Spirits to help them sooth pain and heal wounds, and how to use their magic kindly and wisely, for the good of all the world’s inhabitants._

_Then each year when a chill begins to whisper on the wind, as the nights grow longer and the lyrium stirs to sing loudly in his blood, Anders’ longing for Falon’Din grows so great that he calls his name, and his lover never fails to answer. Falon’Din takes his hand and leads him through the shifting paths to their home beyond the Veil.  They say Falon’Din’s heart is so lightened by his husband’s presence at his side that the storm clouds in Setheneran part for half the year to gather instead in the mortal realm, giving us rain in autumn and snow in winter, and allowing Falon’Din and Anders to lie together beneath the stars once more._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming on this journey this me! I have never had so much fun on a concept, so thank you again HollowedMelody for the prompt, and thank you all so much for all the kudos, bookmarks and wonderful comments!


	16. Fanart

_“Though just like the delicate hidden blossoms he had shared with Anders as they walked side by side, the fresh green shoot of love that had managed to take root within his heart had only flourished in the sunshine of the mage’s smile."_

**Absolutely STUNNING artwork by the immensely talented @chocojava on tumblr.  Go check out the rest of their work, you won't be sorry!**


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